White Blank Page
by TheRedHerring760
Summary: A series of various single-worded prompts that stand alone as One-Shots. Lengths and Ratings are subject to change each chapter. If it slips into 'M' I will issue a warning at the top. - All are Red and Liz centered.
1. My December

Disclaimer : I own absolutely 0% of the Blacklist. These are stolen toys from Brokenkamp's treasure trove. I'm just borrowing them, giving them a go, and then I promise they will be returned in their proper positions once finished.

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_"This is my December, this is my time of the year. This is my December, this is all so clear. This is my December, this is my snow covered home. This is my December, this is me alone..." _

Snow

It falls in dense flakes. Concealing the streets, trees, and blanketing the rooftops; as icicles dip and develop into deadly stakes. He takes a still moment to himself, inhales the smell of distant burning wood floating in the undercarriage of the frigid breeze. His heart rate on the incline as he looks forward at the suburban home before him.

In the shadows under the orange hue of the hanging lamppost. Looking into the frosted windows, and the white lights that flickered through the smog highlighting the essence of the Christmas tree.

His eyes close, as his heart beat against his chest walls. Fists clench and unclench down at his sides. When he reopens his eyes he is transported to another time, another place. The house before him, the snow that surrounds him. It's not the same, it's ghostly and artificial. He takes an unsteady foot forward, the pulse thrumming more wildly in his veins as he approaches the stairs and welcome mat. The wooden floorboards creak beneath his snow-caked shoes as he brushes the flakes off his shoulders. A fearful, slow moving hand touches the frozen steel of the handle and cautiously twists.

He can smell cinnamon, the lasting warmth of the dwindled fireplace igniting life back into his numbed limbs almost instantly. But he's lost in the double vision, the images he sees before him are translucent, the staining of blood on the walls and the thick pools that gather and spread on the flooring. He turns and can see the fallen Christmas tree, then blinks and sees it back upright.

Like a bad trip on a hallucinogenic drug.

He stops, he turns, he breathes, he walks forward. Into the kitchen, the smell of blood on the first inhale – on the second it's filled with the consolatory smell of cinnamon – he finds it empty.

He has to remind himself to remain calm, to remain focused – but the images grow steadily, become more clear, his senses overloaded in the past and couldn't quite grip the present. He closes his eyes as he walks through the living room once more, Red couldn't bring himself to face the image his brain projected on the otherwise peaceful home - It wanted him to see the grizzly, morbid version he tended to drink himself through whenever this particular holiday approached him - he traveled through blindly with his eyes pinched tight.

The tip of his shoe bumps into the first stair, and he takes an uneasy breath as his hand clenches around the railing. One stair at a time he finds himself on the top landing. Turning toward the bedroom.

The dread travels like venom, coating every inch of his being, his stomach twists into a tight knot as his hand reaches forward. He takes a moment, a sullen, quiet moment to brace himself. His perception of time and place far gone now, his eyes deceive him even further adding new faux details to the mix of memory. The walls splintering where the bullet shells pierce the wood. The frame broken from a boot landing a blow and forcing it from its hold.

He twists the handle and gently pries it open, takes in the empty room that was basking in tender black and white lighting. The shadows twist and dance amongst the moonlight. The flakes seemed to be falling inside, though he is well aware it's all part of the illusion. He feels his hand tremble down at his side, the faint smell of strawberry shampoo from a favored brand long discontinued from store shelves filling his nostrils.

"Red -" He hears his name whispered, and his dreamy disarray is shattered, his coherency lasting mere moments. He blinks and the images fuse back into a smoked reality. She looks frightened as she regards his state.

He stands stock still as he watches her untangle herself from tiny arms that clung onto her frame. She pads over to him on slow timid feet, a hand reaching out and wrapping warmed fingers around his frosted ones. His eyelids feel too heavy to hold open, and he obeys their need to close.

Her hand squeezes his before it releases and begins to work at the buttons of his coat. She remains silent, and he couldn't bring himself to speak even if he needed to. Paralyzed and semiconscious.

She slips the coat from his shoulders and tosses it somewhere behind him. His ears honed into the sounds of the damp fabrics being shed. "Everything is okay," She assures him, but he himself is not too sure. "Come with me." Liz slips her hand into his, and pulls him back toward the stairwell.

He feels like an old abused animal, unsure who is to trust anymore. Quivering at any sudden contact, or slight movement.

But she guides him safely through the wreck his vision conjures. "It's not real." She promises beside him, as they over look the living room. "None of it is real." she rounds him, faces him. Lifts their joined hands, letting go of coiled fingers and places his palm over her heart. The beat like a thunderous orchestra drum, "I'm real." she sounds defeated, and impossibly heavyhearted. "Red, I'm real." She shakes and grips his wrist even tighter, presses it harder against her chest. "Please, look at me -" she pleads, her heartbeat increasing. "We're here and I swear to you, everything is fine." She repeats, and he knows faintly that she's begun to cry.

They stand for an unmeasurable amount of time. Her soft cries drowning out, as he stared emptily at the crime scene of several decades ago. Liz disappears into utter darkness, swept away from his imagination by the pull of a crosscurrent, disregarded like the dollhouse that lay broken on the plush carpet, by a piano that didn't exist in his current world. Her heart beat from beneath his palm transferring into the drumming of adrenaline that fills his ears. The warmth of the deadened fireplace, the soft embers that still remained. The cinnamon – the blood – the buzzing of the knocked over lampshade and the light within it ready to burst. Reality and memory at a war, and he stood rooted in the center of it all.

Without the strength to choose a side.

No matter what second chance he was granted – no matter what life they resumed living – this is the image that will always haunt him. This mistake, this fault, will never be erased from him. It's a part of him that still bled every Christmas. A wound that will never be stitched, will never quite heal. Never completely turn into a scar that could potentially fade away.

It grows bright, hot white light, an angelic image engulfing over and sweeping away all the crimson; and he can see her frozen in time before him.

The girlish smile, the soft blonde curls and emerald eyes. She takes a step toward him, and her face wilts away into sorrow. Judging him for the torture he flogged himself with. "You need to stop." her voice was foreign to his ears, and if he's honest with himself, he can't fully remember the true sound of it at all anymore. "It's time," she speaks gently ghosting a finger down his cheek. "to let go of this."

"You know that I can't." he chokes out, relishing in the touch of her fingers on his face.

"You have to," She smiles warmly at him, "Because you also know that they need you, and not like this."

"I'm sorry." He apologizes abruptly, feels the tear that rolls down into her fingertips, "If only I-"

"You can't temper fate daddy." She lets out a short breathless laugh and wraps her slender arms around him. He inhales sharply, and is captivated by the smell of that sweet strawberry shampoo. His arms cling tighter around her – it doesn't feel like he's hugging anything at all - yet he can feel her warmth fill his soul for a fleeting moment. Before it turns ashen - before it goes cold. "He needs you to be stronger than this, and Liz can't carry the weight of this heavy world anymore. When you open your eyes, you have to move forward, for them, for yourself. You can't suffer on like this forever." She sighs, her ghostly breath on the crook of his neck. She pulls away and her eyes are so lifeless. "We'll never be apart, carry me here..." Her palm touches his heart, the hand like dry-ice burning and stealing his own living warmth. "but you need to stop. You can finally make up for all this mess." Her voice grows distant, and she slips further from him. "Dad. Wake up and open your eyes." he hears as her voice fades.

The wispy sobs flicker around him, the scene liquifying and draining away as the beat beneath his palm became more potent. His thumb moves over her skin, and draws her red stained eyes up onto his. They stare at each other for a pregnant moment, before tiny footfalls echo down from the upstairs and they both turn their attention up at the railing.

"Dad!" the little boy gasps, blue eyes so much like his mother's glow in the shadows. He bounds loudly down the stairs, and rushes over to the both of them.

Red ungracefully falls down to his knees to embrace his still sleepy, yet gleeful son. He feels Liz grip his shoulder, hears her try to smother another sob from escaping her.

"Welcome home." His son says softly into his shoulder, nuzzling his face and clinging tighter to him.

_Home._

This was home.

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**AN**: _This is the beginning of many single word prompted One-Shots that will be ranging in lengths and stages regarding Red/Liz. All filled One-Shots will be tossed in here. Muse for this Fic was drawn from Linkin' Park - My December. _

_As always, mistakes are mine and I truly value your reviews so don't be shy. _

_Thanks for reading,_

_- Red Herring _


	2. Hold On To The Nights

Disclaimer on the first chapter...

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"_How do we explain something that took us by surprise? _

_Promises in vain, love that is real but in disguise. _

_What happens now? Do we break another rule, let our lovers play the fool? _

_I don't know how to stop feeling this way."_

Chocolate

The cushion sinks as she falls onto its weathered material. She reaches behind for the blanket that was folded over the back, wrapping it tightly around herself. Liz sighed contently as she snuggled into the offered warmth of the blanket, fishing around her sides for the remote. Her only plans for the rest of the afternoon was to sit alone in her apartment and be a lifeless lazy sloth.

She just settles into an episode of _Chopped_ when she hears knuckles ring against the wood of her door. She winces, and lowers the volume of the television; perhaps they will assume she isn't home and move along. "I heard you lower the volume on the television Lizzie, open the door." His voice is muffled but clear enough to understand the words that were spoken. "I've come bearing gifts, if that aids in getting you off the couch at all."

"It doesn't!" she shouts though she slides her legs out from under herself anyway. Liz hears a key being inserted then disengages the lock just as she stands. "You have a key to my apartment?" She accuses incredulously, her eyes wide and her mouth agape. "Red... that's intrusive even for you."

"It will only be used in cases of emergency." He throws off nonchalantly, as if it were a perfectly acceptable excuse. He rolls his eyes as she continued to glare at him. Then he offers her a box, "Here -" he shakes it and the contents rattle. "Swiss Chocolate, for your day of lounging."

"I want the key Red." She narrows her stare, catches his lip quirking up at the side. "I'm being serious." She warns, her hand emerging from under the blanket. Holding her palm out, Liz waves her fingers gesturing for him to hand it over. But he only sticks the box on her open palm instead.

"I talked with Harold," He speaks moving around her and taking a seat on her couch. "They are willing to cut your suspension in half."

"If I agree to do what?" She inquires and slowly makes her way around the coffee table, falling gently on the cushion beside Red.

"There are no stipulations." He shrugs his shoulder, then lifts it to lay across the back of the couch.

"There is no solid proof for their allegations anyway," She curls her legs underneath her, turning slightly to face him. "This is all your fault you know... it's because you stand too close, your eyes linger too long, the hand that guides me out of a room rests a little to lowly – and I swear you do it on purpose. If your intentions are to get caught, you're doing a swell job." Red laughs beside her, "It's not funny Red." She huffs, but finds her own face contorting into amusement. "How was the meeting in Switzerland?" She questions as she settles further down into the cushion, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder.

"Uneventful," His arm closes around her pulling her snugly against him. "It was another dead-end as far as I am concerned." she hums, and turns her gaze to the television.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, watching as the chefs had to work with one of the worst baskets Liz has ever seen. "See that's what happens when you let the viewers pick the ingredients the chefs have to work with." Liz scoffs, and begins to pry open the box of chocolate. "What in the world could you do with kale, fruit cocktail, cottage cheese, and marrow bones for dessert? Gross." she shudders, and picks one of the chocolates from the box.

"Isn't that the entire object of the game?" Red questions, his finger drawing abstract shapes on the back of her exposed wrist.

"Yeah, but that is just being cruel. A challenge is one thing, setting them up for failure is another." She laughs before taking a bite into the hard square, Liz emits a soft sound of contentment as her mouth savors in the sweet taste of the milk chocolate.

"Believing they have been set up for failure then watching them succeed is all the more pleasurable, is it not?" He retorts, his own hand weaseling its way into the box and stealing one of the truffles.

"I never agreed to sharing." She chastises through a smirk while peering up at him.

"Technically I am the one sharing with you." He winks, picking out a chocolate covered nut of some sort and popping it in his mouth. She shakes her head at him. "Try the filled ones, I made sure that there are no maples, so you are safe to explore freely."

"I'm going to be examined under a magnifying glass when I go back." She speaks softly while fiddling into the box. "They didn't trust me to begin with, and now..."

"It will be awkward for a little while." Red agrees.

"You need to hold back screwing with them," Liz exasperates, pulling away from his hold on her. "If this is to continue onward, you honestly need to stop being so unrestrained toward me at work."

"I don't really think how I act toward you is any different than it was before." Red states simply, taking the box from her lap and placing it onto the table in front of them. "Perhaps it is you who is giving it away. But if you want me to withdraw and ignore you at work, I will comply." he turns and encloses around her. Red's eyes glow in mischievous amusement as he leans down, his lips hover near her own and she could smell the tinge of chocolate on his exhaled breath. Her eyes flutter close from the anticipation of a kiss. "Delayed gratification is always more satisfying anyway." So close is he that his words caress her lips, and her stomach wavers at the lustful rasp entrancing his voice. She feels drunk as she sways forward, but the prospect of joining their lips falls short, and when she opens her eyes he's already settled into his corner of the couch with the smuggest look upon his face. Her nostrils flare in her anger. "You're awfully cute when you're frustrated Lizzie."

She huffs and motions to stand, but Red grabs her wrist and yanks her down onto his lap. Liz gasps from the jagged movement, and has only a second to catch her breath before his lips seize hers. She could taste the chocolate and fruity filling that still lingered on his tongue; and emits a soft moan when his hand roams along her side.

Liz pulls away breathlessly, arching her neck as his mouth began it's descent from her jawline down into her neck. "Don't think you have distracted me with chocolate and couch cuddling Red. I still want that key back." her voice quivers slightly, she grips his shoulders when his mouth closed over her pulse point.

Red pulls away from her neck and rests his forehead against hers. "You and I both know I am going to keep it Lizzie," his voice was light, teasing almost. "So why don't you just accept it?"

"Keys are meant to be earned." She cups his cheek, and feels the light stubble that was present there. "Having a key to my apartment, that's a big step Red, that kind of makes this more... significant. It will change everything."

"Lizzie," He smiles warmly and leans his cheek into her palm. "I'm not moving in, I'll just have a key. Nothing has to change."

"Would you want to?" Liz is all too aware of how much she sounded like a lovestruck teenage girl. "If you could," Red tilts his head and kisses her softly – and her answer was there in the tender way that he kissed her.

Liz realizes how far in they both have fallen. _Everything has definitely changed._

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_AN: __please excuse the fluff, and please don't judge me too harshly over the use of Richard Marx "Hold On To The Nights" it's one of my guilty pleasure sappy 80's songs in a long sappy playlist and I'm feeling quite lonely in this empty hotel room. But anyway... _

_Mistakes are mine, and reviews are cherished. _

_Thanks for reading, _

_- Red Herring _


	3. The Devil's Backbone

Still own nothing...

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"_Oh Lord, Oh Lord, What have I done?_

_I've fallen in love with a man on the run._

_Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I'm begging you please. _

_Don't take that sinner from me, Oh don't take that sinner from me."_

_Bargain_

_It's an accident_, truly it was... a venture from the kitchen, cool glass of water perspiring in hand as the condensation dripped over her fingers and the ice clinked – she only wanted a drink, but now she fears no liquid would satisfy the dryness that gathers in her mouth.

_Or perhaps it's an act of fate..._

The glass falls, suspended in air as the time appeared to slow. Her world shattering into thousands of tiny pieces as the glass thought about doing the same around her bare feet. He turns at the noise, stunned to find her downstairs at all – perhaps if he had known he would have thought to wear his shirt – the hand that clutches his bullet wound on his arm falls.

- _curiosity is the bell at troubles door_ –

She steps through the glass the pain not enough to pull her from her disarray – not enough to still her movement – it digs into her soles; but she continues to allow it to dig deeper as she padded around him. Not stopping before him, but stopping behind him. "My father – he wasn't the one to pull me from the fire." she states numbly. Her entire stomach turned itself inside out as she took in the marred flesh that covered the entire length of his back.

"No." Red rasps the single word out painfully.

Her hands reach forward, her fingers graze as the muscles beneath tense. He doesn't stop her, he doesn't speak – she explores the topography of his back like a map of truths meant to be decoded. "God..." Liz mutters under a heavy breath, her heart that pounds against her chest walls beats in her ears like a war drum. The question of why sits on the tip of her tongue, but won't edge off – she knows it would shrivel and die in the air – he wouldn't answer, it's a puzzle piece she doesn't need to possess right now. According to him at least...

"Stop," Red speaks softly, and she swallows heavily. Her fingers linger roaming up until her hands close over his freckled shoulders, attracting ends of a magnet pulled together refusing to split apart.

The blood gathers and falls down his arm – a crimson stream tilling over soft skin - it catches in the pale light and her eyes narrow onto it. "You need a stitch." She comments, still not removing her hands from his shoulders.

"Which is why I came down here."

"You keep stitches on hand..." She doesn't know why this seemed ridiculous to her, her thoughts were of white noise, and the fevered heat from Red's skin was tantalizing. Liz felt out of her body, with no grip on anything solid but Red.

"I keep a medical kit on hand. I was hoping to find a butterfly stitch in there." Red moves forward, and her hands fall from his shoulders and down his back before they stick in thin air.

She winces in pain as she follows him. Observes as he pulls a small kit from a shelf, but he doesn't begin on himself he motions for her to sit so he could tend to her. "No," she shakes her head, stealing the kit from him and points for him to sit. He looks at her bewildered but takes the seat regardless. "You've never lied to me?" she inquires delicately – _she needs a finality, she needs to squander that miniscule remaining feeling that he was her father. Even if every ounce of her being knew that he wasn't. Logically she couldn't understand why else he would do the things he did for her... or perhaps she just couldn't reason with the other explanation she felt existed. -_ the cotton ball she rubbed over the crimson took to absorbing it.

"I've never lied to you." He repeats back to her, a clench in his jaw, an odd undefinable look in his eyes; Liz offended him, or maybe he was sick of her doubt. Her hands begin to shake, as they fumble with the butterfly stitch, as they press it and join the two separated pieces of skin. The white noise grows deafening, until everything around her seemed to go silent, her vision blurred, and her body became dense.

Liz doesn't think she could handle this day expanding anymore. She doesn't even want to fathom what tomorrow and this journey could bring.

* * *

"_Don't care if he's guilty, don't care if he's not. _

_He's good and he's bad and he's all that I've got._

_Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I'm begging you please. _

_Don't take that sinner from me._

_Oh, Don't take that sinner from me."_

_She's already burned through the first two stages of grief... and as she receded into the third she refused to proceed into the last. _

She doesn't remember the last time she prayed – genuinely prayed – Sam was devote and she was nonresistant. But now as she sat watching life drain from Red, the only thing she could do was beg and bargain with God.

The hospital wasn't even a hospital. The critical room, not a room at all. A warehouse – sterile, but a warehouse all the same – run by a corrupt surgeon that owed Reddington a favor.

The bullets pierced vital organs, and his chances were slim to none, or so she was told. But he was here, grey and lifeless, his heart beat faintly and that was promise enough. Her palm caresses his cheek as she hovered above him. Liz leans and rests her forehead to his. The tears she sheds blending into his skin, "Please," She begs aloud, "don't take him from me."

Liz won't sleep - she won't because she already caught glimpse of what was promised in limbo – bags form, her eyes bloodshot, delirium instilled her. She couldn't do anything but remain.

He makes it through the week, he makes it into the start of the month...

"It should be me." Her voice was raw and toppling over with inner pain. She turns to look at Dembe, the smell of coffee entrancing the space between them.

The quiet man frowns grimly at her, "Liz," his deep voice vibrates through her fragile body, the heat from the cup he hands her does nothing to squander the stark coldness that inhabited her. "There is no instance where he would have done anything differently. He would give you everything, and expect nothing in return, not excluding his life."

She knows what Dembe speaks is the truth. He would throw himself in front of her again and again – he would die for a thousand lifetimes – if it meant her survival and safety.

"I want him moved. Into a safe house, anywhere but here... I want him moved." She stutters, her voice cracking and her eyes stinging.

Months tick by, seasons change and some of his color starts to flourish. The chances of him breaking from the coma were still not in his favor, even if he was breathing on his own, even if everything _seemed _fine_._ What they did to keep Red alive up until this point, they did for her sake. They coddled her with gentle, placated, reassurance - 'he made it this far' – 'it's possible he could pull through completely' - they think she's a fool.

When they are alone she talks to him, occasionally she reads to him because the internet told her that it helps. But the books were stacking up, and he hasn't so much as flinched an inch.

When night fell, she crawled into the large bed beside him, positioning his arm around herself so that she could lay her head over his heart. "Stay with me." she would whisper into the dark - fearful if she didn't Red would finally give up – finally give in and die peacefully with her in his arms.

The staccato beat lulling her into something that resembled sleep.

Her days and nights become routine – every day that passed blur and fuse together - her body was melting away. As his own - albeit slowly - became somewhat stronger.

Mr. Kaplan and Dembe look at her sympathetically as they bring her food throughout the day, all of which goes untouched.

Liz thinks she might be depressed. _Acceptance was all that remained..._

There was so much in this world that would make her hurt, make her bleed, but the thought of acceptance was far more painful than any sharp object. It was a blade in her heart, twisting, digging deeper, and then twisting again. She runs a cool cloth over his flaked lips, running it over the growth of a slight beard. Her eyes shut, and her motion stills – she takes to praying once more – _I need him,_ she pleads silently feeling the heat of a tear as it cascaded down her sunken cheek. "I need you." she admits aloud, her free hand venturing into his downy hair, short as it was it changed the entire look of him – combined with the peace found on his face – he was hardly the man he once was.

Liz thinks herself selfish. Selfish for forcing him to remain in this world when he could be dovish in the next – whatever the next may be – _perhaps his daughter was there..._ the tears come in earnest now as she swallows around the lump that forms.

Her next inhaled breath, ragged and excruciating, feels a little like a step toward acceptance. The knife twists once more – her heart seems to burst open - she feels her knees collide with the floor.

She hears them rushing up the stairs, but she's in a fog as Dembe lifts her and carries her away from Red's room. _Don't take me from him_... she wishes to speak, but her mouth was disconnected and her ability to function was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes grow heavy and she gives into the darkness – she scarcely has a choice.

She wakes in a bed of her own, with an I.V of her own. Mr. Kaplan looming over her like a vulture over a carcass, eyes set firmly and her lips pinched tight. She feels a child, guilty and awaiting punishment. "Don't make his selfless act be one in vain." Kaplan's voice was even but the bite of the words were there, and Liz's stomach plummets. "Nothing changed." Kaplan assures, but Liz struggles to breathe. "Elizabeth..."

Her eyes pinch tight, and she shakes her head. Whatever Kaplan was about to say was unwanted words upon deafened ears. "You need to eat." the shrill woman snaps, as the door opens, and the smell of some kind of substance fills her nostrils. "I'm giving you the option of doing it with dignity..." the threat broods between the two women. Liz doesn't know what the other option would be, force feed her? Or fit her with a feeding tube of her own? Either way she knew Kaplan would do it.

* * *

They keep her from seeing him - she wasn't even allowed to leave her bedroom - they locked her in there like a caged animal for nearly a week. Systematically dropping food off to her like a prisoner.

She eats it, if only for the hope that if she complied they would set her free.

With her strength returned, she tries to break down the damn door. Anger seething, she roared as her fists banged against the thick wood. She screamed obscenities at the guards that stood beyond the barrier. Screamed until they raked into sobs, Liz slides down the wood until she curled up into a fetal position at the foot of the door. She feels it push against her bottom, she crawls away as it opened to a man she didn't know. He offers her a hand, and she takes it. "Go." He says simply, and she's never been more thankful before in her entire life. She runs past him, down the long corridor and down the stairs, rushing through the length of the ostentatious house until she was on the opposite end. Her heart was pounding with blind optimism that they possibly kept her locked away because he finally came around -_ the other explanation she wouldn't even dare imagine. _

As her hand grips the handle of his door, opening it timidly - Liz takes in the room, nothing had changed – the image of finding him with his eyes open turns to ash behind her eyelids. Defeated, she pads over to the empty side of the bed and slips beneath the covers.

Though it was painfully bright from all the light that filters in from the opened windows. Liz still felt drained, she maneuvers herself under his arm and slips her fingers through his. Lets out a sullen breath as her eyes close.

Liz assumes she's sleeping, fallen deeply into that cruel dream that visited her often. The feeling of his hand pulsing and squeezing the one that held onto his desperately. She flutters her eyes open, expecting the movement to stop with the consciousness. It does, of course it does, she squeezes his hand almost painfully in anger – then his thumb twitches against her skin. "Red," She chokes out, listens as the rhythm of his heart increased beneath her ear. She turns in his limp embrace, and presses her forehead to his temple, she shakes her head in disbelief, then lays her lips beside his ear. "Raymond," She mouths his first name softly – foreign on her tongue – Liz whispers "Stay with me," like the prayers she continued to emit nightly. His hand twitches beneath hers, a faint grip forms that isn't her own. She collapses over him, turns her face into his neck, inhales the musky smell of him. "I know you can hear me. I need you Red." she half-cries curling her body over his and clinging tightly to him. "Wake up..."

She shivers against his cold body.

The next morning Liz wakes with this rediscovered, rejuvenated willpower, and stubborn persistence is breathing life within her once again. She pulls the chair against the bed, and sets to reading to him again, telling him childhood stories with his hand clasped in hers. Touching over his arm, and sometimes running her fingers through his hair. Anything to tell him she was there, that she would wait regardless of how long it took.

Her persistence falters when another two weeks slip away.

It's early in the morning, most of the house was still sleeping, but Liz took to moving Red as was done around this time. Checking for bedsores, they've done a diligent job in tending to him and she doesn't find anything too concerning.

She opens the pulled curtains, and goes into the bathroom, grabs the basin and cloth. It was stuffy in the room, so she opens the windows and allows the sounds of spring to fill the silence. Liz dips the cloth into the water, ringing it and then touching it to his brow. Red's eyes begin to flutter, begin to slowly pull apart. Her hand freezes and she blinks, then she stops breathing, - she was dreaming again - or her own body finally gave out, people could die of a broken heart couldn't they?

They're foggy once they open fully, she slides the damp cloth down his face. He squints and groans, the tip of his tongue prodding against his dry bottom lip. She stunned speechless, and watches as his eyes shut once again. His mouth moving, he was trying to speak... She shushes him, quivering. With as much calmness as she could muster she places the cloth into the basin and leaves it on the floor. Rushing from the room and yelling down the halls for help.

It takes time, and he's still not fully alert but it's enough to ensure hope. The road ahead was paved in pain and months of rehabilitation, but it was a road nevertheless and it was a prospect of future.

He asks for her. She's been avoiding him since his eyes opened – since the doctors told her he was responsive, that he had pulled through - Red asks for her and she can't run forever. She rests against the frame of the open door, and looks at him wistfully. "Lizzie," His voice was the texture of gravel from the months of lack of use, his mouth turning upward into a smile at the sight of her. Her eyes fall to the floor, and she feels broken inside. "Come here," he croaks and then coughs, and she shakes her head. "Lizzie," his voice was pleading, the 'please' goes unspoken.

_Go to him_, her inner voice chastises and it's almost funny that now that she was granted the thing she begged for – she couldn't embrace it – because suddenly she was flogged with guilt. She winces and walks toward him, because she owed him that much.

"I'm sorry," She hears herself say once she's before him, there were a lot of things to be said, but this apology was the start.

It was her fault he was put in this predicament, it was her mistake that nearly cost him his life – it did cost him his life in a way. He looks at her and it hurts, it looks like an apology of his own.

"In darkness, you were all I saw." He speaks slow and deliberate. The words tumble over her like an avalanche. He couldn't move because of atrophy but she's sure if he could Red would have reached over to take her hand; so Liz reaches and takes his hand.

"It's my fault -" She turns away from his gaze, her chin falling to her chest as she felt the tears threatening to fall. His fingers curl tighter over hers.

"It's equally my own fault," Red's scratchy voice and answer like a dagger placed right back into her chest. "But it doesn't matter anymore."

It will always matter to her.

"Would you, stay with me?" Red requests, and she bites at her lip hard enough to draw blood. She nods briefly, and bends to sit on the chair beside him. "No," He huffs a laugh, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Lay with me." his lips part, contorting into a smirk. "I felt you Lizzie, I felt you like an anchor. Your quiet pleas like a pull of gravity. _You need me. _You have me."

She can't form words, she lays his hand back onto the bed. Mindful of his condition.

Her entire body is trembling as she rounds the bed and slips in beside him. Laying on her side and facing toward him. He turns his head and looks at her knowingly, and she relents – quietly wonders if he truly knew from feeling alone or if Dembe informed him – she pulls herself under his arm. A sigh of contentment escaping both of them simultaneously. The bite of tears nips at the backs of her eyes once again, but she refused to allow them their reign.

She feels his lips touch her head, and suddenly she feels motivated to have his lips on her own. She looks up at him and him down to her, a softness she's never seen there before – it could be love, but she wouldn't push that far to assume – she's inching forward. A moment to pause, a moment to reflect, and with an unsteady sway she places her lips over his.

Testing the unknown waters, her row boat with one oar, since Red remained motionless. She pulls away, stares into his eyes and boldly kisses him once more.

Relaxing as his lips finally moved along with hers. Her hand grips the fabric of his shirt over the center of his chest, a lone tear falling from her eye as she broke away and rest her head against his.

Liz thinks she needs to thank the higher being tonight who granted her this second chance.

* * *

**AN: **_The Devil's Backbone belongs to The Civil Wars. (I've been waiting ages to use this song. __It's probably my number one 'Lizzington' song... I highly recommend giving it a listen)_

_This was me coping with the emotional-state the finale left me in. Mistakes are mine, and I really do cherish your reviews so please let me know what you think. _

_Thanks for Reading and sail on 'Lizzington' shippers. _

_- Red Herring _


	4. Wild Horses

_Don't own a single thing..._

* * *

"_I watched you suffer a dull aching pain._

_Now you decided to show me the same. _

_No sweeping exits or offstage lines,_

_could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind."_

Bump

Her hands shake as they hold the small device. Staring blankly at the lines that stare right back at her. Glancing at the ten other variations with the same conclusive answer. Her fingers curl over, hiding the truth from her – concealing a fact – but not changing the outcome. Her body goes cold, her legs wobble and she grips the cold marble counter top to steady herself. _One night... it was one, single, desperate night..._ she turns it over in her mind, over and over.

Her trembling hand releases the counter and lays over her flat stomach. Her eyes pinching tight as her emotions swelled, as she mentally screamed obscenities at herself over the carelessness they took.

She grows queasy, her stomach lurching, then Liz begins to retch into the toilet. Beads of sweat form on her brow as millions of thoughts infiltrated her mind. They wouldn't be safe, if word of mouth got out... even if he hid them... they would still never be safe.

She began to struggle with the thought of telling him, to the point where she considered not doing so at all.

She began to contemplate a lot of things, but mostly she contemplated running and never looking back.

* * *

She's been crying, the red rims around her eyes ignited the blue until it was almost electrifying – even in despair she was the most picturesque creature he's ever seen. Red opens the door to his home wider and allows her entrance, she grabs her hands and holds them tightly, her fingers ghosting white and her face equally as pale. "What's wrong Lizzie?" He questions, locking the door behind the both of them.

She flinches as if the question he voiced had the ability of physically slapping her. He proceeds cautiously, his hand reaching forward and closing around her elbow to guide her off to the left and into the den. She looked as if she were about to faint, so he ushers her down onto the soft cushion of his couch gently.

The silence immersing them under with a dense pressure. He sat beside her drinking slowly from his scotch as he awaited for her to crack open. In the dark lighting of the room he can just make out the tears that gather in her deadened unblinking eyes. "Lizzie," he starts to reach over to take her hand that sat between them on the empty cushion.

"I'm pregnant." She slurs the words, finally blinking and releasing the tears from her eyes.

Red inhales sharply as the room sets to twirling.

"And I'm keeping it..." She voices, and he's deeply offended by the statement – Liz may as well have wielded a knife across his throat - He has to quell the rage that wanted to ignite at the insinuation that he would ever suggest that she didn't.

He swallows heavily, turning his eyes away from her face. "I'm not a monster." He seethes, unable to control it.

Liz frowns as the new set of tears continue their slow trek from her eyes. Down into the waste of the previously shed ones that still littered her cheeks. He gulps down the entire contents of his drink, the burn welcomed as it seared his throat. His fingers close the distance and take her hand, curling over their slender shape and squeezing gently. Not sure if the gesture was for her or for himself.

His heart felt heavy, his body felt even worst.

Red's entire world was spinning out of his control at an alarming rate.

* * *

When offered to know the sex of the baby, Liz opts for not knowing – a lingering dread that it could possibly be a girl haunted her – so much so she begged the powers that be, pleading that it would be a boy almost nightly.

Her hand cups over her expanding stomach, rubbing small circles over where she knew the baby to be sitting. She was already overly protective of the little life growing inside her. "I'll always keep you safe little crumb," She promises aloud to the swell of her stomach, "At any costs."

* * *

They lived amongst each other, but the bond they had formed in the months of Berlin had turned to ashes – blown away on the breeze of the pregnancy – they were simply two passing strangers in the day.

On Red's restless nights he would linger by her door and listen to the soft weeping that occurred behind the barrier.

He knows what haunts her, and hates that she's carrying a burden she shouldn't have to carry.

He tries to voice it to her one day, tries to reassure her that he wouldn't resent the possibility of a daughter. But it sends her into an emotional path of destruction, and he watches as Liz breaks apart, sobbing for what felt like the entire day. When he wrapped his arms around her, she didn't push him away – and when he placed his hand over the growing bump for the first time – her hand cupped over his.

Red had to fight off the wetness that formed and blurred his sight. Heaving out a ragged breath as his eyelids joined together.

* * *

The months moved at such a slow pace, but there was a peace that settled upon Red and herself. She stopped shutting him out, finally accepting the help he has so desperately tried to impart on her from the start.

The baby was the only happiness she would find lately. Growing overly giddy over any movement, enthusiastic over the feeling of the baby getting hiccups – or the feeling and knowledge of it sleeping – Red would merely smile at her, the sadness that was found in his eyes always lingered with her. Then a devastating reminder perpetrated her, he's been through this before.

While it was all new to her, he's been through this before... Her heart grew extremely heavy with the thought.

* * *

They have a terrible heated exchange in the day; and she has an equally terrible nightmare the night before they were going to pack up and leave again.

She's been having nightmares, mostly relating to the baby – but tonight her unconscious mind displayed a gruesome possibility that she never actually took into account before. She woke up choking back sobs. A loneliness crept its way into her aching body; and as she padded across the hall of the safe house, she stopped before Red's door. It was ajar with a soft light breaking through the slit. She doesn't knock, she just pushes it open.

Finding him with his back propped against the headboard. A book in his lap, and glasses perched on his nose. He peers up at her, his head tilting to the side as she walked further into the bedroom.

"I don't want to be alone anymore." she mentions softly as she slips beneath the covers. The dream of Red dying made her realize quite powerfully how alone she would be without him. "And I don't want you to die..." she mutters half asleep already, his proximity was more persuasive than _sandman dust_. "I didn't mean it when I said it. " she sighs reaching blindly until she gripped his forearm.

"I didn't think you were being serious Lizzie." He whispers, Liz feels his fingers ghost down the side of her face and she lets out a soft whimper.

"I think, I would be lost without you," She hears the words escape from her thoughts, "and that scares me most of all."

* * *

In the early morning that his son is born, Red makes a silent promise to the little boy that he wouldn't allow him the same fate that was bestowed upon his daughter.

He stands by the window of the hospital, the sun's rays falling in and absorbing the pink hue of the baby until he was literally shining in angelic white. His eyelids were so thin, and not yet opened to the world around him. Red didn't think he would ever see something so beautiful and pure again in his lifetime.

He turns to peer at Liz - still exhausted from the arduous labor she went through - listens to the soft sounds of deep sleep that escape her.

Red's hand was still throbbing from her bone crushing grip. He smiles and returns back to rocking the sleeping child – his child – his second chance.

Being as gentle as he can, he touches the smooth skin of his cheek. Lifting the little bundle up higher and delicately laying his lips to the soft forehead of his son.

The center of Red's entire universe was fit snugly into this single room, and nothing outside of it mattered anymore.

* * *

_AN: Just something I wrote rather quickly in a coffee shop. So utterly bored... Anywoo, hope it was enjoyable, mistakes are mine and comments are welcome. :) _

_Thanks for reading,_

_- Red Herring _

_Wild Horses belongs to The Rolling Stones. _


	5. Dance Me To The End Of Love

_No benefits to be made, still don't own a thing either. _

* * *

"_Dance me to your beauty like a burning violin._

_Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in. _

_Lift me like an olive branch, be my homeward dove. _

_And dance me to the end of love, please dance me to the end of love."_

Dancing

The music swells around them as tipsy couples took to the dance floor. The soothing waltz like song that was being played by the band; was nearly as intoxicating as the smell of Red's cologne. Which brushed past her every time his story grew animated and he swung his arm. They were riding solo on this little covert expedition.

She was thankful for the lack of prying eyes and ears, it made undercover work like this far easier on her part. Cooper wasn't too acute with the idea, but Reddington was highly persuasive. He spewed off some elaborate reasoning and eventually – only to shut him up Liz believes – Cooper agreed.

The contact Red continued to chat with was nicknamed _The Rat - _he kept to the underground, and when he was above it he was still knee deep in filth – quick to burrow, yet easy to lure out with the proper bait.

He wasn't bad looking per say, but he looked treacherous. Liz watched as Red slipped his arm around her back, his fingertips twirl over her upper arm, the gentleness and feather light touches causes her to shiver involuntary.

She tries not to pay too much attention to their conversation. The Rat was a dimwit and a misogynistic one at that. Liz has to hide her snarl in her glass of champagne when he gets into an overly vulgar tale from his time in Barbados.

Her hand on Red's knee roams high, rubbing along his inner thigh – but if it takes him by surprise no one would be the wiser – Red doesn't so much as twitch at the contact. Until Liz got a little too close for comfort, then his fingers gripped around her upper arm in warning. His eyes finally meet hers and she silently screams at him to hurry this up. Or else she was going to get up and leave. He gets the hint, and he slowly begins to steal information from the drunkard.

She watches as Red forces The Rat into oblivion, ordering shot for shot until The Rat is passed out atop the canvas covered table.

The band was playing a warm and inviting song. She felt drowsy from the softly carried notes. The space was cleared of most of the bystanders, "Can we leave?" She whispered into his ear, unsure what he was waiting for.

"If you dance with me first," Red grants her a cheeky little smile as he pushes his chair back. Sliding it to the side and offering his hand, which she doesn't take immediately. "Come on Lizzie." he nods in the direction of the band, "A single dance never hurt anybody." he winks down at her, wiggling his fingers impatiently.

Liz rolls her eyes and accepts his proffered hand, following him into the center of the floor. She doesn't fight him as he leads, smiling at the memory of the first time they danced together. She moves a little bit closer, and sways along with the music and the gentle guidance of Red.

"Why were you so persistent on not having surveillance in here?" Liz inquires half-heartily.

"I know you prefer it." Red answers as he maneuvered them around the floor.

"There wasn't another reason?" She smirks, her hand on his shoulder moves upward grazing the coarse hair on the back of his head. "Like getting me to dance with you, perhaps without having to worry about what is appropriate distance as to not alert the FBI."

"You're very touchy tonight," Red basically purrs as he rolls his head into her touch. "I'm sure Donald wouldn't have enjoyed watching you grope me under the table."

"I didn't grope you..."

"Close enough." Red's hand splays across her lower back, and she shudders slightly as they sweep over the bare skin that was displayed from the low dip of her dress. His eyes were radiant with mischief. "Red is so wonderful on you Lizzie." he rasps beside her ear.

She bites at her lip, and inches closer until their bodies were pressed together. She feels him inhale and exhale softly once her head falls upon his shoulder. "How long will you be gone?" Liz speaks softly as her eyes fall shut, his movement less dancing and more rocking now.

"Two, three weeks at most." His voice grew flat, and void of emotion. A heavy sigh escapes her, "It'll pass before you know it." his palm rubbed along her spine in a comforting gesture. She pulls away and looks deeply into his eyes, there was something that looked a bit like fear in his gaze. His head falls to touch upon hers. Then his nose brushed along her nose. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, like this was something more than it appeared to be. Liz felt like the floor was about to open and swallow her whole.

_The sullen feeling was causing her heart to ache... This felt wrong, something was wrong. _

His eyes fall shut as they continued to share the same breath – continued to sway against the hauntingly mournful music the band slipped into. _How appropriate,_ Liz thinks. "Red," she breathes his name, and grips his hand that held hers a little tighter. "You'll come home won't you?"

It's hard to take in all his features from their intimate proximity, but it appeared to be withering. "Tell me this feeling that I am feeling right now is not what-"

His lips take hers, stopping her from continuing. The hand at her back pulling away and quickly moving up to cup her jaw.

It was a dizzy dance he was spinning. Her lungs were burning as he kissed her slowly, all while continuing to dance her.

But the tender movement increasingly grows fevered.

Liz's brain was going numb, as she struggled to catch her breath between the hungered kisses that allude to desperation.

Her hand slips under his tuxedo jacket and feels the heat of his skin on his back. Her nails dig into the shirt and claw down the sensitive scars hidden beneath. Red grunts into her mouth, and pulls away reluctantly "Say you'll come back." She declares breathlessly.

"I'll come back." The deep yearning look in his eyes didn't look very reassuring. "I will Lizzie." He promises and he tips his head up to kiss the center of her forehead, his thumb moving against her jaw.

Her arms wrap around his back and she hugs him tightly. Red continues to move their inseparable bodies.

Time started to standstill. Both savoring the moment. Both unsure what the future might bring.

_Neither have taken into account that the music had stopped._

* * *

_**AN** : Mistakes are mine, and comments are always welcomed :) _

_Thanks for reading,_

_- Red Herring _

_Dance Me To The End Of Love - The Civil Wars (Made famous by Leonard Cohen) is not mine. _


	6. Buckets Of Rain

_Still borrowing... _

* * *

_"Life is sad_

_Life is a bust_

_All ya can do is do what you must_

_You do what you must do and ya do it well_

_I'll do it for you honey baby_

_Can't you tell?"_

Rain

The rhythm of the rain that falls coincides with the beating of her heart. The soft pitter-patter rebounds off the windowpane and infiltrates the silence. There is a crack of thunder, the deep rumble shakes the glass. Liz lets out a heavy breath, watching the droplets that form and fall, their shadows cast inside the room dancing upon the carpet.

Another thunderous boom rattles around the room.

She remembers how terrified she was of thunderstorms as a very young child. For some reason they made the nightmares worst. Now with the knowledge of the fire, she connects dots that her subconscious did long before herself. The thunder was a trigger, a slight resemblance to the sound of the explosion, the one that set the house into its inferno.

When Red told her, Liz wasn't sure exactly which emotion to allow reign. The rage of the knowledge that he's been disrupting her life before her life even truly began – the torment at the knowledge that it bound them in the cruelest of ways – the despair at the thought that it was because of her, that his family no longer existed – or the gratitude that he risked his entire life once he found out that she was trapped in the house. He had the scars to bear the selfless act; something in which she very venomously accused him of never being able to do. Red was even willing to let her live under the delusion that her biological father was her savior.

Red was such an enigma.

When she asked to see the marks, Red looked very self-conscious and so unlike himself as he delicately declined her. Unwilling to give into her desire of seeing them. _How bad are they?_ She would ask... unknowing what dominoes the question would send falling in its path.

* * *

_He deflects her question, his eyes trained and observing the clouds that were billowing and growing increasingly dark. "Have you ever kissed someone in the rain Lizzie?" he asked, the moisture becoming present in the air. The silent lull before the storm just as present – it was going to be a big one – she could tell. _

"_I imagine it's no different than kissing someone in the shower." Her brain was so muddled, still stuck in the image it was conjuring. Trying to imagine his back, factoring time and scaling her own scar. Stretching it over lengths of him – then she remembers he covered her, and her burn wasn't nearly as exposed as his back._

"_Oh, it's quite different." Red huffs, gazing up into the sky as if taunting it to break open and wash him away. "Rain is a natural aerosol, it binds with the volatile oils that plants and trees release, turning into this pleasant gas. Which is why it always smells so wonderful after rainfall. The air collects the strong aroma, and you're exposed to the true smell of the world around you." His eyes close, "So with the heightened senses of smell, the touch of rain on your skin, the physical contact and the involuntary shivers... it's very pleasurable." Red adds a seductive leer to 'pleasurable' and it has its desired affect on her. Even if his eyes were close - even if his face was still turned expectantly up at the sky - Liz knows he is aware of the flush that tainted her cheeks. _

"_I'm not sure what you are proposing here Red," Liz babbles, she had no grip on really anything right now. Her brain was overloaded and malfunctioning. _

"_I wasn't proposing anything," He turns down to look at her, the light catches and it highlights the green of his eyes. "Just reflecting." _

"_No, you are deflecting." Liz sighs, closing the space that separated them. "I want to see Red." she touches his bicep, "Let me see." she pleads and he blinks at her. When his fingers begin to work at the buttons of his shirt she becomes aghast, and he merely smiles. "I didn't mean here, right now... Red it's going to rain, there's a storm coming-" _

"_Just so," He shrugs, and slowly his skin becomes visible to her. "I'm sure there could be poetry found in this somewhere," a distant rumble is heard in the distance, and mentally she counts the seconds – Sam taught her that – to see how far away the true storm was. A droplet falls onto her nose as she continues to stare into his eyes. "Bearing my sins and the rain awaiting to wash them away." Red finishes, her eyes close as he begins to shrug his shoulder free. _

_The rain was slowly picking up, gathering its strength. Another crack of thunder and Liz's eyes open. He was looking at her quite openly now, unguarded and so very vulnerable. She ignores the tattoos on his arm, her eyes focus on the opposite arm with the new scar from Tom's bullet graze. She walks around him, Red remaining stationary. _

_The increasing droplets cling to his skin, cling to her lashes. "Can I touch you?" She inquires quietly, finds that her hands have began to tremble just slightly. Red nods, and when her fingers merely brush his skin, she hears him take a sharp intake of breath. _

_Liz feels and sees the muscles as they tense under her tracing. As she moves around him and exposes herself to his back – another rambunctious billow of thunder, a warning – she steps closer, her hands move lower to the small of his back, then slowly back up the dips and curves, all the twists and turns of the flames violent tongue. _

_What propels her to do so, what possesses her body – she's still unaware – but her mouth hovers and huffs out a jagged breath between his muscular shoulder blades. When she lays her lips to his warm marred skin her eyes flutter shut – Red trembles, and with his tremble the sky bursts open and a torrential downfall engulfs them, atonement – her hand on his shoulder is covered by his palm, his thumb brushing over hers. _

_She opens her eyes when she feels him turn, her tears mixing with the rain could have gone unnoticed if It was anyone else looking at her. But Raymond Reddington was far to observant to overlook them. His palms enclose around her face, his calloused thumbs brush over her cheeks. _

_Her breaths were coming and going laboriously, her heart was pinching and binding, and so painfully sore. She could smell him, she could smell the earth, she could smell the change that formed between them.__She gives him the slightest of nods, and his mouth descends to hers. _

_Red's mouth moves softly against hers, slow and purposeful. A direct contrast to the heavily falling rain. She could taste the droplets that drown them, inhales the intoxicating smell of the Spring aroma. Finds herself moaning into his mouth, and clinging tighter to him._

_A roll of thunder erupts and brings Liz back to her senses. She pulls away from Red, with a blush spreading as rosy as the wildflowers around them. "We should probably go." She suggests after clearing her throat. _

* * *

Liz turns and watches Red's chest as it inflates and deflates with every sleep-filled breath he took. She weasels her way closer, and nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck. She grins when Red's arms shift, and he blankets her in his safety.

She's learned quite a few things today, however two stood out among the rest.

One – kissing in the rain is above and beyond kissing in the shower.

and...

Two – Raymond Reddington the _Concierge of Crime _was a cuddler.

* * *

_AN: Guess who is not doing her job right now? *points to self* and I have been hit with the fic-train. _

_Roominthecastle (if I remember correctly, if not I apologize to the original creator) made the most amazing manip-__gif set... And that has literally haunted me since I've seen it. So thanks for the inspiration - and if you haven't seen it please find it on tumblr and give it love. _

_mistakes are mine, reviews are always divine... _

_With Love,_

_- Red Herring_

_Buckets of Rain belongs to Bob Dylan _


	7. Nerve

And it comes as no surprise, I still don't own The Blacklist. Bummer...

* * *

"_How come all my vises always breed relief? _

_When a sip of gin saves an hour of speech..._

_and yeah its fickle and it feels so cheap. _

_But I can rest and I can feel at ease. _

_It's my friends, don't know the half, they're just listening._

_I'm at a loss 'cause I'm living in it._

_That's not to say that I'm giving in._

_It's just that this is how it's always been."_

Pain

It's dark in the den, the only light in the room was the burnt orange illumination emerging from the fireplace. Cast in the shadows and highlighted by the licks of the flames; he was sulking, upping the ante from a glass to drinking straight from the bottle. The blood was seeping into his crisp white shirt, coating the entire side in the deepest of crimson. Red swears its _just a grazing - to leave him be_.

Liz grows enraged, stomping out of the room like a child throwing a tantrum. Her heavy footfalls thudding against the wooden panel flooring, all the way to the holdall that had a number of medical supplies inside.

Dembe attempts to halt her as she proceeds back into the den, a knowing look upon his face, silently pleading with her to conform to Red's wishes - but she doesn't break stride – Liz rips her arm from his soft grip with an animalistic growl.

She looks him over, finds that Red's eyes were growing weighted. The desired outcome of drunken stupor was in effect. "What are you..." He slurs as Liz kneels between his widespread legs. Red was slouched against the cushion – but straightens as she shifted on the floor and space between him. She rises on her knees and her hands move quickly with the buttons, starting from the bottom and working upward. "If you wanted me out of my clothes Lizzie all you needed to do was ask." Red states dryly.

"Shut up." Liz snaps, and he mumbles something incoherently back at her. Taking another long pull of the amber liquid. Liz fumbles in the medical kit, unpacking a cotton cloth and using it for absorption. She wipes at the wound, it truly was just a graze. She subsides in the relief - the concern was calmed – but the rage was still flaring within her. He hisses when she begins to disinfect it with one of the solutions.

"What is going on?" She demands sternly, Red's face is unwavering as he continued to drink himself toward oblivion. "Red," she chided gently, grabbing the gauze and placing it over the wound before taping it to his skin. "You have to let me in..." Liz speaks softly, "You can trust me."

"It's not a matter of trust." Red half mumbles half slurs, his eyes were completely lethargic. Liz is surprised he could even hold his head upright, let alone understand the words escaping her.

"Tell me what is going on." She touches his knee and squeezes it harshly when his eyes began to slip shut. "Is it Berlin? I know we haven't made much ground, but acting so reckless won't get you anywhere."

He's awfully quiet as he stares absentmindedly ahead of her. Liz wonders if she should perhaps move from between his legs, the awkwardness of being in this intimate position suddenly dawns on her; causing her to grow flustered.

"This, has nothing to do with Berlin." it sounds like the statement pushes from deep inside his chest, it was ragged and rough, scolding. His hand clenches tighter over the thick neck of the bottle. He blinks his eyes, a few times in quick succession and then slower, until he stopped opening them altogether.

Liz feared he was going to pass out before she was given an answer.

"What is it then?" She falls back on her haunches, distancing herself if only by a few inches.

"It's not a good week for me Lizzie," He is impossibly quiet, so quiet she has to strain to hear him. "It's best if you just leave me alone."

"Like you have ever granted me that luxury." She scoffs, Liz watches as the tick in his cheek begins to twitch. But he continues to ignore her, he continues to lazily bring that glass bottle to his swollen lips – and he continues to down the contents until it was very nearly empty. He was going to give himself alcohol poisoning. She falls forward to her knees again, leans over him and rips the bottle from his indolent grip.

She begins to stand but he stops her - his hand with more precision than she would ever expect him to possess right now – strikes and encloses over her wrist. "Stay," the begging undertone of his voice catches Liz by surprise. She finds herself frozen to the spot.

"Are you going to explain to me why you are so self-destructive right now?"

Red's eyes were pinched tight, and there was an even tighter grimace contorting his facial muscles, "Her birthday is tomorrow." He manages to expel, albeit quietly.

With the admission, Liz feels her heart split directly in half. He was still holding onto her wrist limply, so Liz reaches over with her free hand and covers his cold fingers. It's easy to forget about the life Red previously had, when you are lost in the present image he projected. Easier to misplace the knowledge that he once was a father. Liz's throat constricts until she feels like she can no longer breathe. "Don't say you didn't know, or apologize... or something equally-" His speech trails off in a heavy slur, and he slips away from awareness. His fingers had no grip around her at all.

"Red," Liz speaks loudly, hovering over his face – she gives him a moment to answer. _Unresponsive_ – she lightly slaps her hand against his cheek a few times, "Red, can you hear me?"

"Yes," He mouths faintly, and she watches as his bared chest continued to rise and fall evenly.

"You may have alcohol poisoning," She can hear the fear in her voice as she touches her fingertips to his carotid, his skin was clammy.

"I'm fine," Red lifts his arm, and waves hers away from touching him. "I'll be fine."

"No!" Liz shouts at him and he winces, "You're not fine."

"I think you should leave Lizzie," His eyes open, and what she finds in his pupils causes her to take several steps back. The unbidden intensity and rage was monstrous.

"No matter how hard you push," dejected Liz takes a step forward. Red's eyes soften before they flutter closed, "I don't plan on leaving you to choke on your own vomit." his jaw clenches and his eyes reopen - following her movements around the room – as best to their ability.

"Why?" His dark deadpan question stops her just as she reaches the arch.

"Because I've been here, not nearly as imprudent, but you were there for me." Liz feels a deep frown settle upon her. "So, I'll be here for you."

Liz takes a deep breath, then speaks just above a whisper. "And all of this pain you're harboring deep within yourself Red - you once told me to talk..." she emits a shaky exhale, her voice equally as fragile as she continued. "I'll listen Red."

Red continues to stare blankly at her; and he grants her the briefest of acknowledgment through the most vanquish of nods.

She moves out of the den and goes upstairs to the bedrooms. Ripping the blanket from his bed hastily.

Red is passed out by the time she returns, she lays the blanket over top him. Listens to his inhales and exhales, counts the time between them to make sure they were not faltering; and when he becomes sick in the middle of the night, she'll make sure he doesn't choke. Or knock his head on something in the bathroom.

Tomorrow he'll wake up with a hangover, and the miserable torture he ensured for himself will run through its dominance until it releases him.

When the new week begins – when he falls back into step, Red will find her still at his side – and he'll look at her differently.

It will look like astonishment and relief. It will look like gratitude.

It will resemble increasing affection.

To Liz it will be a proverbial spike into Reddington's ice castle built around Raymond. Liz didn't plan on stopping her heedless incursions until she was shattering every thick icy wall that kept her from the center - that concealed her from the truth – that kept her at bay in solitary confinement.

If they were going to move on to whatever or wherever it is they needed to, Red needed to let her in. The barriers had to be broken and this was just a small step.

_You always have to crawl before you walk._

* * *

_AN: Apparently I wrote this sometime ago, completely forgot about it until I was cleaning up my prompt document to check off the completed words. All it needed was a prompt word and some tender love and care, and here we are. _

_Mistakes are mine, and reviews are welcome. _

_Thanks for Reading, _

_- Red Herring _

_Nerve belongs to Half Moon Run _


	8. Father And Daughter

No benefits made. Owns nothing.

* * *

"_And though I can't guarantee there's nothing scary hiding under your bed._

_I'm gonna stand guard like a postcard of a Golden Retriever. _

_And never leave 'til I leave you with a sweet dream in your head." _

Monsters

He hones into her tiny feet as they race down the hallway; and he's already waiting for her, clearing space in the middle of the bed before she even slips through the crack of the door. She looks up at him sheepishly, as she stands in the soft light that broke in through the hallway. Her hands folded and twisting in front of her. Light brown hair a tangled mess of curls, and tiny stray hairs stuck up at the awkwardest of angles.

"Come on," Red speaks softly, smiling warmly at her - the words were barely ushered - before she's rushing up the foot of the bed. Careful not to disturb her sleeping mother. He lets out a tiny groan when she accidentally knees him, her tiny arms wrapping their way around his neck.

She buries her face into the crook, a breath of relief escaping her.

He takes a steady inhale, breathing in the faint smell of cherry blossom and lavender that lingered on her. His palm rubbing her back soothingly. "It's okay," he assures, turning his head to kiss her.

Red feels a growing wetness as it gathered on his skin. "Hey," Red pulls away from her tight hold, craning his neck uneasily to try to catch a glimpse of her face. "What do I always tell you each night?" he grazes the back of his finger down her cheek, wiping at the fallen tears that were on the loose.

She sniffles, placing a hand on his chest and holding herself above him to look him in the eyes. "You'll never let anything happen to me." her tiny quivering voice causes his heart to cave in upon itself. Her chin falls down toward her chest, and a deep frown settles its way onto her.

"_Nothing_ will ever happen to you," Red swears sternly, his finger hooking under her chin, bringing her head back up. "I promise you."

She pouts, "Can I stay daddy?"

He grins at his daughter's manipulative play.

She was hardly even gracing seven, and already far too smart for her own good. Learning long ago how easily he caves into her will; the moment she utters _daddy_ in that frail little voice of hers. "Of course you can."

"Good," She slips away from him and takes her spot in the center of the bed, highly satisfied with herself. "It's still under my bed. Patrick said if I don't cover my toes... that they," She stutters lightly, releasing a dramatic shudder before turning on her side to look at him with her big doe-eyes. "they eat your toes... or worst, they drag you by your feet and take you under."

Red struggles to withhold a laugh as he lays on his side, sliding down and flattening to level with her. "It's not funny dad!" she says a little too loudly, and he brings his finger up to his lips with a muted chortle. "Sorry" She mumbles dejectedly. "But, it's not funny. Stop smiling..." she warns, narrowing her eyes at him.

Red continues to smirk, brushing the sticky hair off of her face. "Perhaps we should send them all to Patrick's room, he has a bigger bed, better for hiding. Or we can scare them away so they never come back."

"Monsters aren't afraid of anything, they're monsters." She scoffs - _she looks so much like her mother_ - he feels his smile spread further across his face.

"Then why don't they eat Patrick's toes?" Red hums, watching as her eyelids began to grow heavy. His fingers dusting over her upper arm with the lightest of touches.

"They smell." She offers meagerly, snuggling deeper into the pillow, shifting closer to him.

"What if you wore socks?" She seems to contemplate the solution, her eyes opening dreamily to his. "It's not a bad idea, is it?" she shakes her head, and her eyes close again.

"I love you." she mumbles out through a yawn. Lifting her arm and taking his hand, wrapping her little fingers around his.

Three words, and the smallest of hands rip his heart straight out of his chest. "I love you too," he whispers and pushes forward so he could lay his lips to the center of her forehead. "There won't be any midnight snacks for the monsters tonight. I'm on guard."

"Not funny," she half opens an eye at him, the hint of a smile gracing her.

Red holds her hand, and watches as she slowly falls asleep. The fear that tensed her muscles subsiding. Her lips parted just slightly, the light little snores that emit from her; she looked angelic.

He hears Liz shift and turn over, he didn't even realize she woke, so wrapped up in his daughter was he.

"You are in so much trouble," Liz emits, her voice just above a whisper. "She has you wrapped around her little finger Red." her eyes glance down at their still joined hands.

"So much trouble..." She draws out the words. "What are you going to do when her heart is broken?" Liz ponders and Red isn't completely sure if he were truly meant to answer. Or if she was just lost in the thought and speaking aloud.

"I'll kill them," He expresses only half jokingly, he touches his finger down her delicate skin - _as soft as silk and as pure as snow_ – he looks back up at Liz and finds her smile still splitting her face. Liz reaches over and touches his upper arm.

"You have to talk with Patrick, he listens to you." Liz exhales, releasing his arm and petting her hand down Evelyn's hair. "She needs to be comfortable in her own room, and you are making it really difficult."

Liz frowns, her hand stopping. "I know it's hard-"

"It's physically impossible for me to say no to her," Red stops her from carrying on, his eyes switching from Liz down to Evelyn. Watching as her chest rose and fell evenly. "especially when she looks at me with those big wet eyes, her tiny little quivering voice - it cuts through me."

Liz inhales slowly, gripping the center of the blanket and pulling it higher to fit over their daughter. "If you make this a habit, she'll become dependent on your presence." Liz chides gently.

"What's wrong with that?" Red whispers dispiritedly.

Sometimes he would catch Evelyn doing things that brings flashes of memory back from his first daughter. They were so similar in so many ways.

He finds that no matter how many decades come to pass, his memory will never rest or forget what he lost. She was growing at an alarming rate, slowly approaching the age that he lost his first daughter – and it's not like he doesn't notice how overbearing his protection stemmed – he knows, he's over protective of both his children.

Red just couldn't control it.

There was still this lingering fear that something would go wrong, that he would come home or wake up one day and find himself drowning in their blood; like he did once before, in another life, in another time.

Liz touches his face and breaks him out of the darker area of his mind. Her eyes look at his knowingly, as her thumb begins to sweep over his cheek. He leans into her cupped palm. In the soft amber light still falling inside from the ajar door he can just catch a glimpse of the tears that gather in Liz's eyes.

"I'll talk to Rick," Red speaks gently, catching her wrist with his hand and kissing her palm. "And I'll get her a nightlight, or something she could hold in bed that will grant her the feeling of safety..."

"She already has something that grants her the feeling of safety Red, it's you." Her tears catch the light, and he watches their watery trails as they curve over her cheeks. He's about to speak, but she's quick to stop him. "Don't, ever, replace it."

* * *

_AN: Mistakes are mine, and I do so cherish your reviews. _

_Having a very unfortunate Saturday, so I took to distracting myself in my hotel room. Hope everyone else is enjoying their holiday (or just the weekend depending on your location) _

_Thanks for reading,_

_- Red Herring_

_Father And Daughter belongs to Paul Simon _


	9. The Call

Still not benefitting, owns not a single ounce.

* * *

"_It started out as a feeling, Which then grew into a hope._

_Which then turned into a quiet thought._

_Which then turned into a quiet word._

_And then that word grew louder and louder._

_'Til it was a battle cry."_

Goodbye

He knew this day would come. Reasoned with it for so long.

Yet, reasoning with something doesn't mean it makes following the duty any easier. There was a burdensome feeling spreading over him, weighing him down until it made him feel one with the ground below him - and it was all because of her – he never took her into account, his Achilles' heel, his vulnerability.

_Leaving Liz behind_. Even the influence of the thought sat densely over his heart, constricting the beats to a forced rhythm. So slow was it that he felt light-headed and immobile.

The house was in a whirlwind as his tactical teams prepped for battle. An entire arsenal was spread out atop the mahogany dining table. There were blueprints of surrounding buildings, and strategies echoing around the room.

Red stood in its center and took in the scene, looked at the people at his disposal, willing and able soldiers fighting a war that had no gains – _their loyalty ran deeper than Red deserved_ – the bustle of the room comes to a halt - as the heavy door collides with the wall with a sharp thud; every head turning at once to look in the direction.

"What on earth do you think you are doing?" She's fuming, her shoulders motioning up and down from the ragged breaths she heaved. A disheveled look to her features that would suggest her running to him.

His lips form a tight line as he fought against a sarcastic quip, Red didn't think she would appreciate a light jest in her state of mind. "What I have to do." He expresses simply, he then turns to the group and quietly asks them to leave.

"Red..." Her voice gives off the slightest of quivers as she takes a slow step forward. "You can't do this alone."

"It's the only way I _can_ do this." He meets her half way, taking the last two steps until they were before each other.

"We can help. I can help." Liz's whole body slumps as the quiet words escape her.

"Lizzie," He expels dejectedly. Her eyes fall to her feet, as her head hung sorrowfully, awaiting words she clearly didn't want to hear.

Red wants to reach forward and touch her; but he couldn't truly bring himself to act upon it. "All the help I need is in this room already, excluding you, of course."

"Why won't you let me help you?" Her eyes pull up from their deep studying of the flooring. A wet glaze shimmering upon the saddest shade of blue he's ever witnessed. "I can help you." He's a little surprised when her hand moves forward, her fingers wrapping around his upper arm and squeezing.

It was rare for Liz to be the one to initiate touch.

_Desperation._

"You've already helped me more than you know." He smiles warmly at her, watches as the tears continued to build in layers, her eyes were drowning in them.

Silently, Red observes with astonishment at the blatant display of strength to keep them trapped within herself.

Awestricken at the knowledge that they were for him.

_She didn't want to lose him..._

His palm is cupping her cheek before he can register it moving. Red sighs as the intimate action breaks the tensioned line of her inner strength, the tears quickly escape her; and Liz breathes in a shaky breath as she leans further into his touch.

The simple action of swallowing felt like an excruciating task, his throat was constricting so tautly. "Goodbye Lizzie," he manages to strangle out, feeling the slight tremble his words invoke from her.

Liz's grip on his arm modifies until it's nearly painful, her nails curling into his flesh. "I refuse to say goodbye Red." the words penetrate and officially halt his heart from beating. "Goodbye, is finality."

* * *

_"Pick a star on the dark horizon, and follow the light._

_You'll come back when it's over._

_No need to say goodbye."_

After they cleared her from the involvement in Red's disappearance, Liz resigns from the task force. Packs her things and hightails it out of DC without a second glance backward.

Money would never be an issue, Red saw to that.

She awoke to a note and a black credit card in her name by her coffee pot. _You should take a vacation Lizzie,_ the note stated simply in his perfect script. Her eyes pinched together, as a quiet rage filled her; though Red was already long gone and safe from her ire.

Liz knew what _vacation_ meant, he wanted her to disappear – he wanted her to run – and so she did.

She traveled within the States for a long time, months moving slowly as she tracked coast to coast. Taking notes from Red and never staying in the same place for more than two days at a time. She grows tired of running, grows tired of moving from place to place.

Grows impossibly lonely.

Liz finds herself on a beach, in some coastal state – every one was blurring into one ominous blob these days – the moon already hung high in the sky. The sand was firm and cold as she reclined back to rest, her eyes gazing into the endless midnight and its sky full of broken stars. Or perhaps they appeared broken because she herself felt that way inside.

Whatever feelings she suppressed for Red were surfacing - starting from the moment he was gone - buoying and bobbing along with a gentle numbness and occasional ache. When she opened up her heart to the feelings however, there was always far too much to lose, too many endless dark hollows to fall into and no where to go when Liz's searching was through.

_No where that didn't have the outcome of harrowing pain_.

Her nights had to be dulled with the aid of drink, otherwise it was filled with blinding anguish.

Every day, every week, every month that passed – was like a layer of skin being peeled back, the nerve endings being exposed only to be grated. Trying to break her spirit, trying to convince her to move on from something that never truly began – to give up – to settle someplace and live for herself again.

Liz refused.

_Red was resilient. He'll come back, and he'll find her, like he did once before._

* * *

_"Now we're back to the beginning. It's just a feeling and no one knows yet."_

He followed Liz here to Kiawah Island – followed her silhouette as she made her way in the silver moonlight toward the water - he found her, and that was all that mattered. The sand felt more like wet concrete as he slogged through it. Like a trudge through the murkiest of waters, quicksand instead of the fine grain of pure tan powder.

He stands behind her for an unmeasurable amount of time. He couldn't move the last few feet toward her, he simply stood as she lay in the sand, gazing up at the sky as if she were awaiting answers to spill from the black abyss. He views as she sits up, something setting her at an unease as she turned her head from left to right, a shiver running through her as she faced forward for a few moments.

The pulse in his body began to thud through his veins in anticipation as Liz stood. All she had to do was turn around.

Liz is aghast once she turns, that much he can make out in the low lighting of the night. Unsure if what she is seeing was a reality or not. He takes a weighted foot forward as she mirrors the same action. Repeating until they were standing directly in front of each other.

"Red," She half gasps and half cries.

He was heaving as if he just ran a marathon. Red's eyes flutter shut, as his body falls down in front of her like a feather dropping from the sky.

He felt whole. He felt complete.

Her hands brace his shoulders as she joins him on her knees, leveling herself with him. When his eyes reopened to hers, it looked like being home. "Lizzie," he utters limply as her finger drags down the fresh scar over his eyebrow.

She waddles on her knees, moving until their legs were pressed together. Her arms snaking around him quickly, hugging him as she chokes out jagged breaths. Her body shuddering wildly as she cried into his shoulder.

Red's palm flattens on the small of her back - shushing her quietly - as his hand softly moved along her spine. Leaning his head down onto hers, she murmurs something unrecognizable repetitively through almost violent sobs.

There is a silent exchange when she releases him and stares into his eyes. Allowing him into the darkest depths of her soul.

Gazing that deep was like looking for stars in the night sky; the longer you looked, the more you saw – and all he saw was something he didn't think he had any right in beholding. Not in this lifetime, or even in the next.

Her hand lays flat along his cheek, her other sliding over his shoulder and up his neck. When her lips touch his, it's bashful and unsure – to stop the unneeded doubt Red responds immediately – touching along her jaw before sliding his fingers into her hair. Their kissing like the tide swaying back and forward almost lazily, slowly stealing each others breaths until he felt dizzy and spellbound.

His entire being wanted to change the pace, wanted to give into his need of something more feral – but that's not what she needs, not now – Liz needed gentle reassurance that the feelings were not one sided.

His thumb moves along her jaw once she pulls away, foreheads joined together as their heavy inhales and exhales sang in unison.

"_I'll come back, when you call me._

_No need to say goodbye."_

* * *

_AN: Mistakes are mine, reviews are always welcomed. _

_Thanks for reading,_

_- Red Herring_

_The Call belongs to Regina Spektor_


	10. Unstoppable

still owns nothing.

**Warning** : This chapter includes sexual content and adult themes that may not be suitable for the younglings...

Rating is 'M' for this one

* * *

"_Come and lay right on my bed, sit and drink some wine. _

_I'll try not to make you cry. _

_And if you'd get inside my head, then you'd understand,_

_Then you'd understand me. _

_Why I've felt so alone, why I kept myself from love._

_And you became my favorite drug._

_So let me take you right now and swallow you down,_

_I need you inside."_

Lust

She can only imprecisely remember a brush with death at some point during the day. Only hazily can she remember drinking until her inhibitions were long forgotten.

Only vaguely, can she remember him attempting to leave before the fire could erupt – before they dipped into prohibited territory that could never be reversed – after she made a rather blunt comment a sober Lizzie would never have made; only to have her shoving him roughly against the door.

Only faintly, can she remember kissing him as if he were the offered fountain of relief in the center of this unforgivable heatwave, which made her room feel more like the driest of deserts.

Vaguely, can she remember biting his bottom lip until it broke beneath her incisors. Tasting the bitterness upon her own lips, as well as the hiss he releases. Tearing at his clothing as a lion may have tore into a fallen gazelle. Her sandcastle fortress surrounding her lustful restraints smashed by the foot of a giant, as the reckless ferocity of a vamp possessed her.

She can mistily remember the words she ushered that broke Red, those of which caused him to react in unison instead of placating her ministrations - stopping whatever reasoning he had for holding back; she wasn't so drunk and neither was he, there were no advantages being taken, she wasn't lost enough not to understand what she was doing.

She knows what she wants.

She knows what he wants.

Her finger slips around his belt loop and drags him in the direction of her bed. His own fingers making quick work of the buttons of her blouse, his mouth descending to taste the salty perspiration that gathered along her clavicle.

They are nothing but a blur of frantic limbs as they forcibly demolished the layers that stood in their way – those that kept them separated – those that kept her from feeling the fevered heat of his skin flush against her own.

She isn't sure how he gained the upper hand, how he gained the dominance – but Liz can hardly find herself caring as his fingers touched her, as his mouth moved in ways that caused instant euphoria; blurring her vision to the point that she couldn't see anything but soft outlines and fractured lines. Her hearing so muffled she could be submerged underwater for all she knew.

So rapid was her heartbeat that she could see the colorful pulses in the air; and when Red begins composing the sweetest of symphonies – using her as his instrument – it's her screams that pierce through the atmosphere.

She attempts to blink to clear her head, clear her vision, but he's working back upward, and his teeth are marking their territory – _doesn't he know she's already his?_

Liz burned with raw desire, as Red stole whatever shallow capacity her lungs maintained.

She feels like blacking out may become a possibility - as syllables and sounds escape her that could potentially be his name – emerging from a timbre that doesn't even closely resemble her natural one.

The space between them fills with primal grunts and sharp moans – unsure who was singing what any longer – her nails creating crescent-shaped marks into the flesh of his back as Red set to an excruciatingly slow pace.

Words may fall from her mouth in urgency – strings of obscenities that hardly made sense, strung together, staging their own personalities – causing Red to laugh and then smirk almost gleefully. Her nails drag down the rough ridges of his back, she's only half sorry as he winces and his motions falter.

Pleasure and pain, a thin line that they began to teeter along.

Her stomach was coiling tightly, a fluttering inside which alluded to that promised euphoria once again. He steals her breathless words, when his mouth closes over hers, just as his hand slipped between their joined bodies.

Muffling her cries with his own – free-falling together down the platform toward sedated bliss.

"_Do you think that this is right, or is it really wrong?_

_I know that this is what we've been wanting._

_And all this burning in my soul, it fills up to my throat._

_It fills up till my heart is breaking."_

He knows what transpired tonight was nothing but trouble for the future.

Knows that his, _their_, moment of weakness will potentially change – will definitely change – everything about their working relationship.

They had a great thing going on before this, months upon months of trust built until an open familiarity was formed; sharing homes, and sharing almost every single minute together. _Perhaps it was too much familiarity_...

_Then again, almost dying does have a funny way of altering your perception of right and wrong. It does have a way of thrusting you into reckless abandon... _

His palm slides down her soft arm that was wrapped around him. Red began to wonder if Liz feared he would leave her while she was sleeping - it was almost suffocating how tightly she held on to him.

Her body gives off an involuntary shiver, her hold on him releases just slightly as he continued to touch her; her unconscious mind relaxing under the knowledge that he was still there.

Liz might regret this come morning, this might backtrack them back to the start, might shift his footing he combated so hard to gain with her.

Red's mind was reeling with possible outcomes. He inhales sharply as his palm runs over his short cropped hair. He wished that his mind was as numb as his body, wished he wasn't plagued with the thoughts that ran rapid, pounding against his skull painfully.

The warmth of her body, the scent in the air, it was intoxicating, alluring, and grievous all under the same deluded breath.

Even in his perverse fantasies, even in his most lucid dreams – none could have touched upon the reality. Liz was the most potent form of dopamine. Red was granted a taste of the forbidden fruit, the sweetest of nectars; everything of which could be ripped away just as quickly as they were presented to him.

He could close his eyes, only to wake up more alone than when they started.

Red finds sleep eventually – more sleep than he's had in years if he's honest – though he's up long before Liz is, he watches the morning break the night; he watched her eyes flutter with awareness, felt her heartbeats as they increased once she recognized her body was half draped over his. Her thigh rubs up and down his, as his own pulse automatically started quickening. She mumbles a lazy "Morning," into his neck, before sweeping her nose over his skin. He gulps laboriously and his eyes close, at least she didn't regret their actions.

"About last night," Red begins, because they had to rip the adhesive off sooner or later; and why not at the start of the morning, breathing life into it, perhaps it would die quickly. "Lizzie..." he breathes, yet whatever words he'd hoped to say died on his lips.

"I know there is no going back." She whispers against the shell of his ear, "I don't want to go back anyway Red."

"This can become very complicated." Red's voice is strangled and raw, raspy with sleep and layered with conflicting emotions.

"We're used to complicated." Liz all but purrs, "Let's not kid ourselves, when it's as good as it was," she kisses along his jaw, slowly but surely making her way toward his mouth; and Red stood motionless, hypnotized under her spell – not fully convinced this wasn't a dream, still half sure he would truly wake to a troubled Liz shriveling away from him, "it _will_ happen again..." his jaw clenches, and he was fighting hard not to grow entrapped in her early promises. "If you stop being so reserved, and pensive... it could happen now."

"Lizzie," He huffs, her legs tangling with his as she positioned herself above him. Groaning when she straddled over his hips, he shook his head at her, pinching his lips together. Trying hard not to react to the heat of her, to the feel of her – it was a lost cause from the very start – but he could try to maintain his discipline, try to maintain his control; even if he was only kidding himself.

"Don't, _Lizzie_ me," Liz fixes him with a stern stare, her blue eyes could be daggers. The hands that press against his chest could stop his heart from beating – could rip right through and pull the once cold, useless organ, straight from its cavity. _It was Liz who brought it back to life anyway, and it was Liz who held it in her palms. It was Liz who could curl her fingers around it, crush it and turn it to dust. It was Liz who could cause it to bloom into something unconditionally loving... Or something more monstrous than before - something darker, something he couldn't control once she was gone. _

"It was... it felt," she stammers to find the correct phrasing that wouldn't sound so cliché.

Red feels himself smile, a gentle, warm smile he set-aside simply for her. His arm rising until the back of his hand brushes along her cheek, before flexing and slipping into her tangled hair. She bites at her lip, nodding at the understanding that through his gesture, Red understood, and words were superfluous. He knew what it felt like, it felt dangerous – it felt like prospect – it felt like completion.

"This could end badly." He murmurs, the sorrow evident in his vocalization.

"Or maybe, just maybe – this won't end at all." She smirks, leaning down until her mouth hovered over his, her exhales falling against his lips. "Yesterday was an end, and today something new has begun." the words are paraphrased but recognized instantly.

"The risk of losing you," Red pauses, her brow furrowing as Liz shook her head. The ends of her hair tickling his cheeks. "I'm only half as good without you Lizzie." Red finishes delicately. "You don't realize -"

His words perish inside her mouth, emitting a soft, stifled moan as her tongue came forward; his mouth already compliant, opening willingly without hesitation.

"Shut up," She mumbles between the kisses, "Shut up and just..." Liz growls as she grinds against him enticingly. Red let's out a deep rumbling grunt as his hands dig into her hips. Her head rolls back, her voice quakes, "I want you to stop talking. Use your mouth for more useful things."

"Noted."

"_If we had this night together._

_If we had a moment to ourselves._

_If we had this night together, then we'd be unstoppable."_

* * *

_AN: I'm just going to exit stage right... yeah... I don't even know... Drinking did this to me... I'm an adult woman and I'm actually slightly ashamed of this - *runs to hide under her blanket* _

_Mistakes are mine, reviews are always welcomed and always cherished. _

_Thanks for Reading,_

_- Red Herring_

_Unstoppable belongs to The Calling _


	11. Arms

_My ownership has not improved, no benefits are being made. _

* * *

"_I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart._

_But you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start."_

Enthralled

Liz bit into the strawberry as she mulled over Red's proposition, and the under-ripe tang of it puckered her lips. A sour reaction to both his words and the fruit. Liz made her decision days ago, "How many times do I have to repeat myself," she mutters, narrowing her eyes onto his own. "No." she discharges a little firmer, his lips purse as he begins to structure another set of words with the design to sway her. "Red," Liz warns, her eyes catch his hands as they grip the edge of the counter.

"Lizzie," Red mimics her warning, his face all sharp angles as he regards her. His slightly puffed chest is the only sign of his inner anger toward her reluctance.

"When I appeared on your doorstep, I abandoned all that was left behind me. I'm taking a risk, but I chose to join you. I don't exactly plan on backing out now."

"Once we leave, there is no returning to what you once had Lizzie, you'll be painted in the same shade as I am. Your career at the FBI will unravel -"

"Do you not think I understand that?" Liz interrupts, her teeth tear into the flesh of another strawberry, this one only slightly better than the other. "I'm choosing you Red, just let it go and allow me to help."

Liz sees the cords of his neck tense as he swallows heavily, granting her a slow nod before turning and leaving her in the empty kitchen. Leaving her alone to her thoughts, and to her own trepidations. She wonders what the price is for the answers she seeks, she knows the forefront, knows her career is now completely compromised – but what else will she have to sacrifice for a truth?

Mind? Body? Soul? Perhaps all three, she could offer them up altogether as a set and see what stumbles out of the darkest of corners.

There is a anxious knot that builds in the pit of her stomach, and Liz just knows the road ahead will test her in ways she's never imagined. Knows she's quickly falling down a rabbit's hole, and the last ticket out she just ripped into shreds. Too stubborn was she to retract now, not after the display she just put forth, not after Red finally yielded.

She pushes the bowl of fruit away from her, no longer interested in the bittersweet taste of them. Letting out an exasperated breath Liz twirls around on the stool and walks in the direction of the bedrooms. It was hardly nightfall, but she's lost interest in the day several hours ago. Her body was taxed, and her mind now in a muddy disarray as both sides fought one another; the voice of reason begging her to rethink this, to grab her holdall and go home.

_What home?_ The other would offer up easily, and the ping of loss and loneliness stabs Liz in the chest.

She inhales through her nose sharply as she continues the long climb up the marble, the heel of her boot clicking and echoing dully. Liz pauses at the top, the faint sound of Red engaging in a rather heated conversation entices her; moving quietly, and nearing in on the sound floating from the crack of his door.

It's muffled and she strains to hear, the words are just restrained syllables and consonants. Liz tenses as the sounds become louder, as his feet move toward the door – she flees rather quickly, dashing into the first empty room available to her.

It's sort of claustrophobic the feeling that seizes her. As she lay in a bed that wasn't her own, in a house that was too empty, and null of that feeling of homeyness. She tosses and turns, shifts her pillows, counts the rotation of the fan; yet sleep was a slippery little devil, and she couldn't quite wrap her fingers around it. Liz reaches over and grabs her cellphone, her eyes squinting as the harsh light blinds her, it was creeping up on four am; she huffs, throwing the blanket off her legs. Sliding them off the edge of the bed and her body following. On her toes she tiptoes and escapes without a sound, the chill of the marble causes her to shiver.

When she reaches the kitchen, the light was already on; she silently hoped that when she turned around the arch she would find it empty. Sighs in relief when her shadow cast in from the bay-window is the only other occupant.

Quietly she opens drawers and cupboards, not sure what she is looking for; she had no desire for eating, or really anything, she just needed to busy her hands and distract her mind. Most of them were dusty and barren, but she does manage to locate a tin of loose leaf tea and the components to make a cup.

Liz fills the infuser with what she believed to be the proper amount, before filling the pot with water and setting it on the stove. She wasn't much of a tea drinker, she preferred coffee and the convenience of being able to set a timer and have it brewed before her alarm clock could even sound. Tom was always diligent in maintaining the routine of setting it the night before. Her eyes shut, her fingers curling over the bar handle of the oven – as the image of his eyes returning back to _Tom Keen, _while he whispered his apology flashes before her; the other half of him quelled, while the man she was in love with radiated through.

She wonders if it was easy for him, if his apology was sincere or if it was just another manipulative play. Tom seemed to have no problem flipping his two sided coin, he could go from somewhat air-headed, doe-eyed husband, to mindless killer seamlessly. She allows her mind to wander, allows her heart to break apart as she slips into memories that used to be considered fond. Memories that are now only full of resent, and bitter anguish. Tom never had feelings for her – their relationship was one sided – placated. He simply played the part he needed to play. Even in the mist of certain death, he played the cards he needed to.

The piercing scream of the tea pot breaks her from her disconnect. Pulls her back to her senses, Liz shakes her head as she lifts it from the heat and pours it over the loaded infuser. The water taking the light color of the leaf – the soft browns swirling out of the metal. She allows it to steep for a few minutes, the water growing darker, and the smell rising on the wisps of the steam. It was fragrant whatever flavor it was.

Liz hears an echo, faint as it may be it carried off all the marble; traveling around until they faded out, never to find purchase on a softer surface. Feels her heart begin to flicker, stomach growing uneasy when she feels his presence enter the room. Contemplates if this is what their future of living amongst each other will resemble. A little glimpse of life on the run, empty houses, and plenty of sleepless nights. "Does it ever stop?" Liz questions once she's sure he's fully in the kitchen, lifting the infuser from the cup, hoping it didn't steep too long. She's had enough bitter tastes clinging to her today.

"Does what stop?" Red's voice was still tinged with sleep and half awareness.

"The nightmares." Liz continues to face the wall, her hands reaching for the box of sugar cubes. The crinkle of the plastic ruffles the thinned air as her fingers reach inside. Withdrawing two and plopping them into the dark tea. Red's silence was not comforting, it only sent apprehension to pit itself inside her, a confirmation she could have easily done without.

"How do you fight something, you cannot see?" Liz ponders finally turning around to face him, drinking in his disheveled look as she brings the hot liquid up to her lips; the steam caressing her top lip and nostrils.

"You don't," He offers, taking a seat on the stool she occupied several hours earlier. "You can't fight invisible demons Lizzie, you can only confront something that haunts you when you can come to terms with it as a physical being. You have to see it as something that can be broken down, reassessed and conformed." Red's chest inflates as he takes in a deep breath. "Face it consciously, then perhaps they will get better subconsciously."

"It's the image of his eyes, it's all I see. There was a shadow of something we once had, found in that look he gave me." Liz takes a step forward, pressing her hip against the island's edge, the corner of Red's lip twitches downward in a sort of half frown. "They changed, and there was a flash of the man I used to know."

"Lizzie," Red begins, there is a sharpness to his voice that demanded attention; as his thumb drummed an odd pattern onto the wooden top. Liz bites her lip, attempting to distort a snarl behind the rim of her cup. "There was no Tom Keen." he states, a softness in his eyes that seemed to empathize with her. "There was no man that you knew, there was only a facade."

"You say and look like you speak from experience." She accentuates, and Liz knows she has hits a mark when that tick in his cheek flares. Red's eyes grow void of previous emotion - her stomach coils.

"Perhaps, I do." The unexpected indulgence catches her by surprise. Her mouth opens as if to form another question, something to pry further but the thoughts of continuance stop dead in their tracks when Red stands and turns to leave her.

"Red," Liz calls, boring holes in his back as he continued his slow retreat. "Wait," Liz declares and he freezes instantly; whether it was because of the blatant desperation in the tone of her voice, or because of curiosity – perhaps a mixture of both. "If I promise not to prod further, would you stay?" Liz whispers lowly. Red stands for a while, unmoved, and she wonders if he had heard her at all. "Can you, just stay for a little bit longer?" she repeats slightly above the whisper of before. Her throat clamping, a tight grimace contorting her features, bracing for rejection, expecting to view him sink further into the darkness.

When he finally half turns, gazing at her over his shoulder; Liz releases a dense sigh, visibly relieved as he moved back toward her. She mouths an inaudible 'thank you' as Red tilts his head looking her over, blinking slowly, thinking.

Silence takes to the space between them and Liz can't decide of it's comfortable, unsettling, or rather peaceful.

Red moves around her, emptying the infuser of its wet contents and filling it once again. Placing the tea pot back on the stove, while reaching and grabbing a cup and gently laying a single sugar cube in the center.

"Growing up," Liz shatters the quiet, Red's back straightens as she speaks."I didn't have many friends, it was mostly just us, Sam and I," Liz pauses, frowning as Red turns to face her, his eyes focused on hers as he took in every word ushered. "he went through great lengths to make sure I had a pleasant childhood. One full of memories, and adventures – even if the adventure only extended to sleeping outside in a dingy tent made of old sheets and an empty clothes line." A smile stretches across her as she reflected on the memory – she wasn't completely sure why she was compelled to fill the silence with personal details from her childhood - perhaps it's because Sam is something shared between them - but it was too late to stop short now, even if she wanted to. "Sam was, the father one could only hope to have." Liz's throat suddenly grows tight, her mouth dries and she looks down into the empty bottom of her cup.

"Do you think..." her palm cups over her eyes, shielding herself and the pin prickle sting that appears. Liz suddenly didn't want to voice the question that danced upon her. Liz tremors when she feels his palm slide over her shoulder, squeezing just slightly, his thumb brushing over her clavicle, urging her onward. "Tom was there," is all she can manage to voice. Red's grip loosens dramatically, and pulls away – taking the warmth he placed in his touch with him – she gulps and she shivers a little more noticeably.

"I don't know what he would have done Lizzie." Red answers, just as the tea pot begins to howl. "It's possible he could have tried to extort information from him, it's equally possible he would have remained undercover."

"I hate -" Liz breathes sorrowfully, pulling her hand off her eyes; just catching when her eyes clear that Red tenses from the start of the statement. "I hate that this is what my life has become. I can't see anything for what it is anymore Red, everything is so bleak. I can't shake this feeling of incompleteness, I feel deadened and weighted, so incredibly weighted."

"I can't tell you it's going to get better, because it won't - and there is no comfort that I have to offer you that will help you sleep at night, I haven't quite found one that works myself."

"When this is over, when all is said and done, Berlin, the Blacklist, whatever revenge or redemption you seek..." Liz side steps, rounding him so that she could view his face. "Is that when you see yourself finally finding peace?"

There is an intuition that twists in her gut, one of absolute horror as she studies his unguarded expression. "When you look that far, you don't see yourself, do you?" her voice is quiet, mournful. Liz catches that subtle shake of the head Red tries to conceal by remaining passive and stony, his stare drifting down into his cup that he held tightly. She surprises him when her fingers curl over his forearm, thumb brushing over the wiry hair that covered it. An attempt at a comforting gesture.

Red's eyes close slowly, his thick eyelashes brush his skin as the muscles in his face pinch together. "Most times, I don't." His vocal cords sound raw as the words hissed through a compact rasp.

* * *

"_How many times will you let me change my mind and turn around?_

_I can't decide if I'll let you save my life or if I'll drown. _

_I hope you see right through my walls._

_I hope that you catch me 'cause I'm already falling."_

They slip into habitual life naturally, as if it was always like this from the start – domestic life with him was far too effortless – and that perhaps was the most alarming fact to evaluate.

They would spend evenings with reports and files scattered about their feet, she picks up on habits of his, catches tiny aspects of how his brain worked. How he broke pieces apart – how he sometimes talked to himself, and granted answers to his own questions - how he preferred to be hands on as well as visual. They build a time-line together, and they retrace events that led up to this point.

Few have the pleasure of viewing Raymond Reddington in this light. There is a sense of privilege that Liz feels when she ruminates over the thought.

"What happened in late 1990 that warranted your burn notice?" Liz questions, curling her legs underneath herself as she settled into the corner of the couch. Leaning over the armrest and wrapping her fingers around the stem of her wine glass that sat on the side table. Red mulls over the file in his hand, ignoring her question.

She rolls her eyes before lifting the glass to her lips, taking the smallest of sips. It was an extremely dry wine and she wasn't exactly sure she liked it very much, but it dulled her brain enough to ensure sleep once they called it a night. Ensured it enough at least until the early morning when she would wake and slip into the library or the kitchen to escape the dreams that still haunt her.

Some nights Red would join her, filling the space and occupying the silence together. Some nights they talked until the sun pierced the blackened sky – some nights he filled the quiet with elaborate stories of things he's done, with animated hand gestures that Liz began to find endearing. "Red, what happened in 1990..." she tries again, the words falling under a defeated sigh.

Red's eyes lift from the page and catch her stare, his shoulders square and she thinks for a moment he's going to speak. He holds her eye contact sternly, contemplative, then tears his gaze away focusing back on the file. "You are so infuriating." Liz scorns, her fist clenches down by her thigh as she watches him pace back and forth. "How long do you plan on keeping me in the dark? How am I of any use if I only know half of the things going on? And please, please don't do me a disservice by saying you're protecting me from some unforeseen evil... I'm growing sick of this game Red." Her breathing becomes more pronounced, her nostrils flaring as the anger begins to absorb her.

"Patience, is a virtue Lizzie," Red mumbles, and she just about snaps. He tosses the file down into the mess on the floor. Running a palm over his left shoulder, cupping it before he windmills his arm. He had an old injury, that occasionally flared – a torn rotator cuff if she had to guess.

She shakes her head at him, pursing her lips. "God, why do I even bother..." she kicks her legs out, the soles of her feet pressing into the hard wood. She begins to storm out, but halts and turns back around, her hands motioning through the air with her ire. "I can't do this anymore, I really can't." Liz growls, taking a full step back into the room. "We've been on the run for almost two months, and I had this misconstrued notion that perhaps you would stop concealing details from me. You want to hide stuff about my life Red, because you can't even afford me that liberty, fine... I'll accept that for now – but how in the hell do you want to find the needle in the haystack if you won't grant me vital information, how am I suppose to connect dots when all the pieces are not laying in front of me?"

Red pinches the bridge of his nose, "Everything, is connected."

"I know everything is connected..." She huffs, narrowing her eyes onto him taking another step in his direction. An unseen current drawing her closer. "I established that-"

"No, Lizzie, _everything_ is connected. 1990... You and I," Red stammers slightly, and its new, seeing him so unconfined to his sturdy control. His body seems to collapse a little, his shoulders sagging heavily, he looks tired – impossibly tired. "Can you just trust me? Just trust that in due time, I will tell you the things you desire."

She's flabbergast for a moment, her jaw comes unhinged as she gapes at him. "Would you answer one question?"

"That all depends on the question."

Liz takes many into consideration, his relationship with Sam, the true events of Christmas Eve, those sketchy gap years from 1990 to 1994, the fire that brought her to Sam; but as she closes the space between them, and as she stands under his hooded stare the questions escape her. One question isn't good enough, one answer isn't good enough.

_You and I_, keeps ringing around her head – rebounding from corner to corner – pulsing in her veins, screaming in her ears, burning through her vision. Her heart begins to race, and she's left to connect and follow the fractured lines, breathing the air that stales between the inch of separation between them. Sickened by the want and drowning by the need. "In due time, Lizzie," she hears him whisper down to her, the tip of his pointer finger goes straight, brushing down the length of her own. "Trust me."

There is a sharp pain that stabs her chest, her eyes slide to half-mast as Liz forces herself to nod, hanging her head. Liz expels an emotion laden breath, and on that hopeless escape of air her eyes seal.

A cool breeze pulls as he moves away from their close proximity.

When her eyes reopen it's to an empty room.

Liz dreams of fire – because that is all she can hook onto these last few nights – dreams of her father scooping her up from her stunned position of watching the flames lick the walls.

The smoke that filled her eyes, that blackened her vision, that infused her lungs. Her trembling body, her fingers that wrapped tightly around her singed bunny; covered beneath the jacket, the solid form that held her equally as tight.

She wakes in the middle of the night with a tear stained pillow, a silent scream held in her throat.

_The way Sam told the story..._ Red began in the backseat of his car all that time ago, _One night an old friend showed up at his door, _his words are repeating, penetrating, so loud, so boisterous – It all seems so close to her but yet still beyond her reach, the answers calling out, playing hide and seek.- _a friend told Sam that he was leaving town, he was in danger... _That look on his face as he said the words... A spotlight on a truth, a glimmer, why was she so blind?

All the ambiguity slips away with the blink of her eyes, and the dichromatic vision - she wasn't even aware existed - finally clears. Liz can feel her chest rising and falling uneven as a cold hand runs down her cheek.

Liz holds onto the epiphany for the course of their moving, another city, another country; another two months of hiding somewhere, sipping at cocktail sedatives just to get through the night. She thinks he knows something is amiss, but Red won't bring it into question. Her looks linger too long when she thinks he's not paying attention, her tongue grows tied and knots in her mouth. Liz chokes on the past.

Red shields her from a bullet somewhere between Amsterdam.

Somewhere between another shred of her mind falling away; somewhere between her body turning to ash.

Red is flesh.

Bones that break, he is skin, sinew, and a beating heart, like anyone else. The impenetrable image is just that, an image.

The bullet wasn't life threatening, but it put a lot into perspective.

Put more into perspective than Liz could truly handle. More compact weight to fill her shoulders, her heart, her mind, her stomach. Too much to bear, too much to conceal. There's no escaping what he does to her any longer. Like a stain that's on her skin, Red is dissolving in. She tried to fight it, she's been putting in the most valorous of efforts. But she won't win, it's too late for her now.

Liz watches quietly as he shrugs his suit jacket awkwardly over his shoulders. Hiding the wince as the pain ricochets in the action. She shakes her head and moves swiftly to round him. Pulling it over his shoulders and reaching around for his sling. His eyes hold hers as she slips his arm inside, lifting the strap around his neck. Her fingers brush the nape of his neck, and her pulse is almost painful as it increases. So much intimacy in such a helpless act. Her hand slides down his upper arm, falls down to her side – smoldering under his concentrated stare – and she wants to run, run away or directly into his arms, at a war with her better judgments.

Her lips form a tight line, she feels rigid, "Lizzie," Her name, falling from his lips, a drill that releases some of the pressure in her head; but it's still so damn heavy. She waits for more words to continue to spill from his mouth, but they never breech the area between. He turns, enough so that they were face to face.

It's her that steps forward and it's her that wraps her arms around him. Shuddering out a breath and listening to the recital of his heartbeats. His free arm wraps around her. Liz wants to cry, she wants to scream, she wants to stay in this refuge and never leave.

Liz is finding it harder to bite her tongue, bite the admission that wants to ebb out. She just couldn't any longer...

"I know Red," her words spill over his chest, "I know what happened that night, in the fire... I know it was you." She feels the relief wash over her. One less secret to weigh her down. One less chain, one less link to break.

She shakes in his embrace, it's slight, but it's there and she knows that he feels it because his arm pulls her tighter to him. Not caring at all that she's crushing his injury, "I'm sorry," His voice is plaintive, apologetic.

And she knows its about more than him just being there, it's always more than just face value involvement, it's always more. Her heart is strung out. Her spirit died long ago. But with his arms around her, there was something akin to a flame that sparks life, and something reminiscent of being home. Of being safe, and of being, somewhat whole.

Sometimes two completely different broken pieces, can mend each other.

* * *

"_The world is coming down on me and I can't find a reason to be loved._

_I never wanna leave you but I can't make you bleed, if I'm alone._

_I tried my best to never let you in, to see the truth._

_And I've never opened up..._

_I've never truly loved, _

_'til you put your arms around me._

_And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go." _

He's dreaming of her.

Not the occasional dream that he's grown used to – those pleasant ones on nights when he somehow manages to evade the regular torment – No, these were a new set of dreams. nightmares if you really wanted to category and label them. Dreams of her very graphically shedding skin, peeling it before him; transformation done by his own hands. It's his doing, this he knows, he's the one who is turning her into this new found person. Darker, deceitful, and it's easy. It's way too easy for her to slip into this new role – it's his doing.

Liz plays her part next to 'Reddington' – they play the parts they need to – to survive. But it's him that's suffering watching her lose grips of herself. It's him, that dies each time she pulls a trigger of a gun thoughtlessly; whether to protect him or to gain the trust of some necessary evil. This wasn't for her, it never was for her – Liz should never be in the same chromatic scale as himself. A part of Liz's humanity was never meant to be drained.

Her perfect sky has been torn. It started off as a dog ear, on the day he stormed into her life; and he's been ripping it everyday since. He knows there is no adhesive that could seamlessly meld it. The adhesive would only be a landscape of a lie, the cracks would still be visible, and as the years past they would only testify to the truth that was unseeable.

He starts to push her away, and with each subtle push, each detachment - it's like a whip to her flesh that he wields. He's breaking her apart, splitting her open – making her bleed, making her hurt.

It made him sick. It made him hate himself.

But as they cornered Berlin, as they somehow gained the upper hand, he needed her to leave him; Red needed her to be safe, and distance was safety.

Liz sees through him however, she's grown too use to him – she sees Red, _really_ sees him – it's as liberating as it is equally appalling, it's hazardous.

He's not thinking clearly, and she's the one pushing him now. Forcing her way inside, like she knows the road, even if she's never seen it before. Like she already knows and understands what's behind all the unopened doors.

So he brings her down. He's wielding malice like a mace, with the intent to land the final blow that will send her flying away. No matter how destructive it was for himself – it was required – it was what Liz needed, even if she was so blind to it now.

Red admits to killing her biological father; two that were stolen from her, two by his own hands. Liz strikes him, and he allows it. He deserves it.

His lip is bleeding, it's just more blood soiling them – her blood may be invisible from the word lashing he directed, but there was actual blood too, blood of victims, blood they'll share in their nightmares - "The entire image of espionage has become extremely romanticized, because of film portrayals. There is nothing romantic about undercover work, I can promise you that." He spits the blood from his mouth, smearing what remained over the white of his sleeve. "I did what I had to do Lizzie, it's what I was ordered to do." Red doesn't know why he's trying to vindicate his actions, because it's better that he sink to the lowest of depths in her eyes. She needs to define him as a monster again – she has to stop beholding him in a way he doesn't merit.

"Is that how you justify what you're doing right now?" She's seething, seething with all the hatred she should have always been imparting onto him. Red remains silent, adding more pressure to his lip. Moments pass, her eyes roam him, and her rage falters albeit shortly. Her stare less stabbing, more understanding. "Am I just another causality?"

_Never,_ he shouts internally, he's struggling to catch his breath as his lungs begin to burn with suppressed words. Attempts to calm his heart and dull his eyes from shining the truth; demands himself to yield to his brain.

Her eyes were not quiet holding his anymore, her shoulders deflate. "You're your own worst enemy..." her voice is so soft, so delicate; the words, sting his flesh, they bend, they break, they wrap around his throat like a collar. "Do you want me to hate you? Is that what you want?"

Silence, all that he can continue to offer her. He won't lie to her.

"I'm leaving."

A crestfallen statement. No other goodbyes. No soft touches that took the meanings of words. Red gritted his teeth but made no attempts to stop her. "I'm sorry." He breathes into the empty room. The fingers at his side twitch, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth could shatter.

* * *

"_I hope that you see right through my walls._

_I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling._

_I'll never let a love get so close."_

She doesn't sleep, she can't sleep, sleep seals the fate of today. She wanders around the garden, and the sectors of the house he avoided, and never quite makes it under her covers. The blanket felt more like being submerged under water, like drowning; it was not comforting, it did not bring her warmth.

Liz knows Red's not sleeping either, knows he never ventured upstairs, hasn't quite made it to his own bedroom.

Her feet carry her to him, they don't stop until she locates him slumped in his chair; fingers wrapped around the glass tumbler full of his amber gateway toward manageable, imitation-bliss. "I could tell you that I don't care, that I hate you, that it's easy to leave you." Liz begins and her sudden appearance startles him, the bones of her legs liquifying under her. Liz has to use the frame of the door to lean against, holding her upright. "But the truth is..." Red's eyes, lethargic and glossy lift to hers, there are no words to cover the amount of hurt she finds inside their dilated orbs. "Red, we didn't travel this far, to watch it all fall apart now."

She steps toward him, crouches beside him, reaches for him. Takes his warmed hand into her cold one. A thud in her chest when his grip tightens on her, his eyelids growing heavy, like he wanted to close them in relief but wouldn't quite allow it. "Red, there is no one else that can save you." her thumb brushes over the back of his hand. "And I'm not a helpless little girl anymore, I don't need your protection, let me rise and fall beside you."

"If something happens to you," Red's distressed, she could see how taut his throat was as he fought against emotions. Choking on them, enveloped deep inside them.

"What if something happens to you?" She motions, just as dejected as him. Though, Red wasn't budging from his decision, "If you allow me to walk away now," Liz states, daring him almost, the roles reversed this time around. "There will be no turning around," She feels like water is beginning to rise around her ankles, slowly building in density, quickly rising up to her throat until she was choking on the murkiness. Blinding her, fuzzing her vision, diluting his eyes from her sight. "So don't - don't you dare, make the same mistake twice." her hand shakes as it clenches his, the strain in her voice so potent of her inner turmoil. The dark cloud was moving in, and not even the salty drops of tears could wash the pain away.

He shakes his head, a quick jolted head shake with the tightening of his lips that press together into a straight line. A seal to barricade his words.

"You don't have to say a single word," Liz chokes out, knees pressing harder into the floor, as her forehead pressed against their joined hands. "I – I can still see straight through you." she grits out, the tears falling onto him one by one.

"Find me." Liz demands, jilted, doleful. Pressing her lips to the back of his hand, listening to the sharp intake of breath it draws from him. With as much strength that she can muster, she lifts her head.

With as much strength as she can muster, she stares openly at him. She absorbs every ounce of this moment.

Liz stands, moves between his legs, she bends. Closes her palms over his cheeks.

With as much strength as she can muster, Liz presses her lips to his. The glass falls, shatters against the floor, shattering along with her heart.

Red's hand touches her hip, fingers wrap, then tug her forward; and she follows, she straddles over his lap as his mouth opens to hers. Tasting the scotch that still lingered on his tongue.

Red kisses her directly into ruins; his lips moving and scripting love letters against her skin.

Their first kiss could be the last – the thought makes her heart go slack; at least whatever was truly left of her heart. His arms wrap around her, his mouth pulls away reluctantly, hugs her to his chest. As Liz comes undone, unraveling and spiraling out of control as sobs broke her body. "I'll find you." His promise, one ray of sun, to warm her skin. "I'll always find you."

_- "You put your arms around me and I'm home." -_

* * *

_AN: This was the piece I was working on before the little 'incident' occurred. I feel like three different people wrote it - I'm not even sure how I feel about it. But I wanted to shake it off and start new. _

_Mistakes are mine, and your reviews mean the absolute world to me, so if you feel inclined, don't be shy. _

_Thanks for reading, _

_With love,_

_- Red Herring_

_Arms belongs to Christina Perri _


	12. Let Me In

Nothing is owned, no benefits made, yadda-yadda.

* * *

"_I've been watching you and all you do, for quite some time._

_Knowing all the ins and outs of you._

_I should've known what was on your mind._

_But all the world is spinning round and round._

_Inside my head tonight._

_I will fall into the darkness. _

_And I fear I will never see the light."_

Blush

Liz sits in the center amongst the chaos; on a worn couch that still had the remnants of fallen beer staining the cushioning. She feels like a faceless woman in a crowd of drunkards, eyes glued to the door, waiting for the bell to jingle and for him to step through. Brooding on why this was the place, of all places he chose to meet her.

She unbuttons the first two buttons on her blouse, and inches further back on the couch. The air was toxic, filled with the stenches of cheap cologne, alcohol and warmed bodies. She felt like she was suffocating in all her layers, and with every inhale she felt like she was choking.

She shimmies from her coat, and lays it over her lap. Her eyes catching an affectionate couple as they talked amongst themselves in the corner of the room. They moved under the dimmed light and heavily shadowed area, safe from the view of the other patrons.

She feels herself frown, confused over the slight ping of jealousy that appears out of nowhere.

Liz stifles a yawn into her fist as she began to stand. Not being able to stay sitting amongst the beer laden couch any longer. She hangs her coat over her forearm and moves around the tightly formed crowds; forcing herself into a corner of the bar. Feeling a little drained, she orders a glass of wine. Liz then slips off to the less crowded back of the pub; keeping the front door in her eyesight.

* * *

Red immediately regrets suggesting this place from the moment he steps outside his car. The reviews were severely misleading, and the low-key promise of a quiet evening was quite clearly a blatant lie. College kids had their backs pressed against the brick walls, puffing on their cigarettes and cat calling passing ladies. Unraveling the scarf from his neck, allowing it to hang loose over the planes of his chest; Red walks through the door.

Scanning the room, he notices her in the back, talking disinterestedly with some overzealous guy. His hand kept touching her elbow, and he could just imagine the sound of the uncomfortable laughter that he watches her expel – a courtesy reaction to some unfunny joke or comment the guy just finished making. Red's lip curls upward as he shakes his head, slinking up to a vacant portion of the bar and ordering himself whatever top shelf scotch they had to offer.

He doesn't make her wait much longer, already sensing her ire at his tardiness. Liz looks relieved when her eyes catch his, and she tries and fails to hide her smile over the rim of her glass as he taps the poor man's shoulder. "Sorry I'm late sweetheart," Red speaks jovial over the rambunctious music, "Who's your friend?" his fingers curl over the muscled shoulder of the younger guy, perhaps a little too tightly as the guy's face contorts into a painful wince. Red pats his back and lets the sap go, side stepping around him to place a lingering kiss to her temple.

"It was nice meeting you Liz," the nameless guy mutters, and saunters off like a disciplined dog, tail between his legs and all.

Red can't stop the small chuckle that emerges from the sight. But quiets quickly when he notices the unamused expression on Liz's face. "It's not like you were enjoying his company." he shrugs, bringing the rim of his glass to his lips and drinking in the amber warmth of his drink.

"What are we doing here Red?"

Red waves Dembe toward them, and takes the manilla envelope from him. "As you requested," their fingers brush just barely as he passes it to her, "Surveillance on Solomon." He takes her wine and hands it to Dembe. Watching as her hands peel back the spread sheets that documented his movements, as she squinted in the dim light at the words, and examined the pictures. "Nothing overly educational."

"Thank you," She mutters under her breath, if he wasn't looking at her lips, he would never have noticed it.

She glances upward from the documents when his fingers wrap around her elbow. An inquisitive look upon her face as he nodded to the left, toward the quieter and mostly empty billiard room. Liz follows without objection, eyes falling back onto the papers as he slowly led her through the crowd. Trusting him enough not to let her bump into anything in the process.

"What does he do at the park?" She questions, her pointer finger on the line, eyes lifting to his. "between 4:30 and 5:20pm?"

"He walks his dog," Red sets his glass on the corner of the pool table, scoffing when he finds that you had to pay a fee to play a game. Dembe smiles and like a parent, digs into his pockets, withdrawing a few dollars and changing them at the machine into coins; before walking over to him and handing them off to Red. "Wanna play old friend? It's been a while," Red smirks as Dembe's smile only enhanced.

"I know better Raymond." Dembe winks, taking a step back.

"Why is that not documented?" Liz's agitation cuts through, "Everything else is detailed, with the exception of his time at the park."

"It's not suspicious Lizzie, he's pretending to be an average Joe," Red huffs, racking the balls. "He goes to the park, he walks the dog, he refuses to clean after it – which is simply ill-mannered in my opinion, and then he goes back home. He doesn't linger, he doesn't do much of anything." He can see her scratch her head in his peripheral, "There is nothing in the dog's feces if that is what your mind is gearing toward..." Red shakes his head, "I had it checked. He's simply lazy."

"He's a bigger perplexity than you are." Liz mentions, stretching her back before slipping the papers back into the envelope. "So where do we go from here?"

"Have patience, keep digging," Red rubs the cube of chalk over the tip of his cue stick, "He'll slip up eventually." he can see her shoulders deflate, "Lizzie, would it make you feel better if I continued to have him trailed?" she gives the shortest of nods. "And so it will be done." he promises, watching as she inhales slowly and draws her eyes up to his. He places the stick against the table, and slips the buttons off his coat. Folding it in half and resting it on the seat beside her.

"Wanna play a game Lizzie?" He teases.

"I'm not much of an opponent Red." She states flatly, eyes glimmering in the low light.

_Liar._

"Indulge me." He offers Liz his hand, pulling her from her seat once she took it. "You go first," He winks, leaning forward and taking his glass of scotch off the corner.

Red can just hardly conceal his amusement at her feigning of obliviousness with clumsy fumbling. "Am I even holding this right?" she bites at her lip, her body too stiff, trying to appear inexperienced, her grip on the stick more along the lines of how one would choke a baseball bat. There was only a moment of contemplation as he stalked toward her; he'll play along.

Red comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around her. His chest presses into her back, and he could feel the tremor of her constrained hum of approval. He shields his grin from her by glancing around the area, pleased to find the room void of anyone but them. "Relax your hand," he whispers beside her ear, his fingers moving over her choke-hold; moving them more in the middle of the grip tape at the rear. His other hand takes hers at the tip of the stick, adjusting her fingers, "A closed bridge tends to be the most comfortable." Liz remains silent, allowing him to position her hand in the proper position, "Now, spread your legs," He rasps seductively against the shell of her ear. Red doesn't miss the smallest of quivers his suggestive words sent through her. He shifts her feet when they don't comply with the tip of his shoe, not relinquishing their close proximity.

"Now what?" Her voice is slightly thicker, she notices, attempts to rid it by clearing her throat. But like a match to a flame, he watches the fire blaze in her eyes, then feels her as she shifts a little bit. Her outer thigh brushing against him, bringing his slight arousal to their attention. Tilting her head she flutters her eyes at him innocently, her tongue sliding over her bottom lip before she holds it between her incisors. "Do I just," her eyes turn forward, and she strokes the stick through her hand provocatively, adding a slight twist with her wrist to the stick that was clearly unnecessary. "hope to hit the white ball hard enough to break the triangle formed balls?"

Red eyes her slightly parted lips covetously. "You know, this would be more convincing, if I were not aware of your scamming days at Qauntico Lizzie." he watches as a pink flush taints her upper cheeks. Her cheek presses to his lower jaw, and he hears the snap of the balls colliding, along with the distinct sound of a few sinking into pockets. "I'll take the solids." She winks, a coquettish smile dancing upon her features, as she set to untangling herself from his embrace.

Liz wins; and though Red was competitive by nature, he could hardly find himself feeling anything but satisfied. Especially as he watched as she taunted him, and laughed merrily. She looked several years younger in her mirthful celebrations. His smile is bright as she pokes him in the shoulder, "I beat Raymond Reddington..." Liz's satisfaction was emanating off her, "I feel like I need to play the lottery or something." Liz sighs in her elation.

"Lizzie, you have chalk on your face," He comments, it was an extremely endearing sight - Red feels his lungs and heart constrain, his brain set to engraving the image - as his thumb brushed over her cheek and started smearing the blue away. Her eyes soften, lips part; and he could see his own reflection in the desire that captivates her blue eyes like a stormy sea.

He stops breathing, when her hands travel up the planes of his chest; stopping at his shoulders as Liz rose on her tiptoes. Her left hand slides and moves to the nape of his neck, pulling until their mouths were mere millimeters from each other.

He closes the gap, hands reaching out and gripping her waist, drawing her against him. Guiding her backwards toward the table, as the kiss grew more fevered, borderline savage.

His lungs were burning, but he wouldn't yield to their need for oxygen. His palm slides along her jaw, slipping into her hair and gripping it through his fingers. Smirking into her low moan when her bottom touches the bumper of the pool table. Her hands release their hold on his waist, gripping the table, she hops with his aid on her hips and shuffles back slightly when she finds purchase on the glossy wood.

If there are witnesses to their display, they are none the wiser.

Red's fingers toy at the hem of her sweater, skirting over her warmed skin as she continued to kiss him maddeningly. Liz surprises him when her legs wrap around him and pull; forcing him to be flush against her.

He's breathless and dazed when he breaks away from her, he could feel the rapid pulse of her heart with their chests pressed as tightly as they were. "If this is what I am afforded after losing to you," He moans when her palm slides against the front of his pants, she purrs into his throat before closing her mouth beneath his earlobe, "I'll make a better effort at doing it more often."

"Perhaps it's what I am affording myself after my victory."

"Same difference." Red chokes out as her grip tightens over his bulge, Liz was ensuring that walking out of here would be awkward.

"Shall we take the celebrations back to my place?" Her teeth tug at the shell of his ear, the aura of lust in her voice ignites his blood, causing it to burn beneath his skin. "Or..."

Red's fingers splay along her inner thighs, her eyelashes flutter against his skin, he feels her heated breaths on his neck. Liz pulls back, her eyes glassy, as she regarded him. "While I am not opposed to a quickie in a public area... I have far more imaginative plans." he manages to reach down and stop her stroking of him. "That would require us leaving, preferably now, before I change my mind. The bathroom is becoming more and more appealing."

She jerks him forward by the folds of Red's vest, closing her mouth over his hungrily, as she shimmies down the edge. Arching her body against him in the process.

Liz conceals his arousal behind her, pulling him by the wrist toward the chairs that their coats occupied. A self satisfied grin forming in the corners of her lips as he held his in front of his pants.

"How fast can Dembe get us out of here?" She questions as he awkwardly tried to shift himself behind the curtain of his coat.

"Not quick enough." Red scoffs.

* * *

_AN: I wrote this on a flight and I don't have the time to edit, so I am sure there are plenty of grammar mistakes in here. I'll comb over it once I am sort of rested tomorrow. Reviews are always welcomed and cherished._

_Thanks for reading,_

_With Love,_

_- Red Herring_

_Let Me In belongs to Save Ferris_

_(Side note: writing the last portion of this on a plane - was probably not wise at all. I'm pretty sure the older man next to me was stealing glances and judging me. No matter which way I turned... I would catch his eyes prying. Hashtag-No Regrets?) _


	13. Kiss Me

I still own nothing. No benefits are made.

Warning : I actually believe this falls into an unsettling amount of WAFF...

* * *

"_Yeah, I've been feeling everything,_

_From hate to love,_

_From love to lust,_

_From lust to truth,_

_I guess that's how I know you._

_So I hold you close, to help you give it up._

_So, kiss me, like you wanna be loved."_

Lips

Raymond Reddington was a slow moving virus.

He sinks in without the victim even knowing the precise moment; releases his poison, then it incubates comfortably, latching onto your central nervous system.

Gradually his onset of symptoms occur at such a painstakingly slow rate that it's otherwise unnoticeable. Until it's in an irreversible state, and suddenly everything is severely compromised. She thinks he pierced through her skin sometime after her anger over Sam dissipated.

Liz can recall, quite vividly, a star filled night; when they shared conversations over glasses of vintage wine, in the garden bathed in the milky moonlit, in some small villa in Italy. The sweet aroma of blossomed spring enchanting and tingling her senses, and the sounds of chirping bugs hummed softly in the distance. In any instance it would have been a perfect setting for a romantic affair, maybe it was, and she was just too unperceptive to it then. Red's green eyes twinkled as he listened to her admittance that she lied about Omaha being a fable, "I knew," He smirked, stretching his jean clad legs out in the grass, crossing them at the ankles. "But I figured you wanted to keep it to yourself."

She believes her affections for him sprouted that night along with those budding flowers. While she delved deeper into her delinquent teen years. Finding clarity in his unwavering acceptance that shone on his features. Red embraced them, soaking them in and absorbing these shreds of the true Liz. At the time unwilling to dig deeper into the whys, afraid of the answers she might find. She simply wrote it off, because who was Red to judge her? When he himself was sitting in the number four spot on the Most Wanted list.

Then, as time progressed, she's exposed to parts of Red she never imagined to exist – Liz thinks that's the moment the virus began to reach her vital organs – when she saw all the human aspects of this criminal before her. Liz then understands why he was so adamant, so damn persistent, on avoiding all the linear thinking of criminals instilled into FBI agents. Perhaps that's what he's been trying to achieve from the beginning – perhaps his goal was for her to eventually see him in a new light. That all his curving and remolding was not just so she could better understand the motives behind the faces of The Blacklist.

But to better understand him.

Things inside her become unclear when she found herself longing for their quiet hours spent in the afternoons, and their shared restless nights; they occurred like clockwork, always at half-past three in the morning. Red was always up before her, waiting with a cup of tea and some kind of dessert to share.

Those were their stolen hours.

Liz didn't realize how important they became to her, until Red left her for a few days. She found herself alone yearning for his stories, and all the hand gestures that accompanied them. His easy laughter that was simply contagious.

She sat alone in the kitchen, the hours that seemed to pass quickly with his guidance, began to stretch on endlessly. This secluded home that they hid in, felt haunted and grey without him – it was horrendous being alone – and it was just as frightening to think she depended on him so much, that being alone became that dreadful. She started to sleep with the television on, because the silence was deafening, and her thoughts of his well being were alarming.

* * *

It completely captivates her heart.

When her birthday rolls around, and he presents her with a neatly wrapped box. "I thought we agreed on no gifts." She detests, sending him a look of warning. But his boyish smile is catching in the light, and Liz finds her lips parting and turning upward. Her fingers slide under the tape and carefully peel back the paper. She slowly tries to pull the box from the opened side, attempting to make as little of a mess as possible.

Red rolls his eyes and shakes his head, "Just rip the paper Lizzie, the anticipation is killing me."

She expels a short laugh and rips more of the paper. At first she's confused as she looked at the cardboard box that was shaped in a sort of dog carrier; then it registers, and nostalgia washes over her. "How could you possibly have..." she's visibly shocked as she turns the box and viewed the stuffed dog inside. The 'adoption' papers under its chin.

She gaped at the little brown plush puppy with darker brown spots, her pointer finger slipping inside the holes and touching it.

"Sam may have mentioned it." Red speaks quietly, and she can feel his eyes as they fix onto her. She doesn't ask when Sam spoke of it, she knows it wasn't in recent years. Instead she begins falling into memories of her eighth birthday and her only wish, was this exact stuffed animal she now held in her hands. The tears gather unbidden, there is a passing thought of hugging him, but she doesn't cave into the desire. "It took a while to find one by the original manufacture but -"

Red filled a childhood void she wasn't aware still existed, "Red," her tears are brimming and very nearly toppling over as she brought her eyes up to his. Stopping him from finishing his sentence, the tears obviously catching him off guard. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it Lizzie," His smile is warm, his eyes are adoring and Liz's heart pulls so tightly, it feels as if it was splitting at the seams.

She doesn't name the dog – though she easily recalls the name she had sorted out in her youth - she does however, secretly sleep with it each night; and it does bring her comfort whenever Red isn't around.

* * *

It completely overtakes her brain.

When they are finally heading home – back to life on the task force – back to reality. The sting of a needle attempting to stitch the open wounds she's inflicting upon herself at the prospect of apartment hunting and eventually living alone. She misses him, and he's not even gone, and that's the precise moment when she knew her feelings were far gone. When her head and her heart were singing the same song in unison.

Liz sinks further against the long couch of his private jet, pulling her legs up and slipping them beneath her. Fingers twiddling with the floppy ear of the plush dog. "I have no where to go," she verbalizes, when the feeling of his silent observing of her state becomes too much to bear.

"You can always stay with me," He suggests simply, "until you find a place."

It's freezing when they land in D.C.

She begins to shiver in her light clothing. Red slips smoothly out of his jacket and drapes it over her quietly. His hands cupping over her shoulders and granting a gentle squeeze. Before he pulls away, walking slowly toward the pilot, while talking quite loudly over the roar of the jet. Liz pulls the jacket tighter around her frame, inhaling the spicy undertone of his cologne, and closing her eyes as she set to inscribing it to memory.

His hand touches the small of her back as he opens the door to the back seat. The awaiting car already warm and inviting. She's not tired, but when he joins her on the seat to her right, she expels a yawn and shuts her eyes. The car pulls away, and her head that rests on the headrest sways, she tries to make it appear natural; and eventually works up the courage to just drop her head onto his shoulder. The tension in her body eases when his lips touch the side of her head.

Liz nuzzles further against him when Red wrapped his arm around her. His fingers absentmindedly stroked her upper arm, and effectively he lulled her into a dreamless state.

* * *

It's a strenuous effort, but she has to stop herself from looking at his lips while he speaks. It was unfortunate how quickly they found a Studio apartment for her; and she's fully moved in within a fortnight of being back on American soil. Sometimes she feels drunk in his presence, especially now that they didn't live amongst each other.

She's lost in thought as he pulls containers out of the brown bag. "I wasn't sure what you were in the mood for, so I just ordered whatever sounded most appetizing." the bag ruffles as he digs his arm deeper, withdrawing a few bread rolls. "I was surprised you called," he tilts his head and looks her over, "is everything okay?"

Liz shrugs a heavy shoulder, she knows she's the one that asked for distance once she moved out. Red has been nothing but compliant, at work he was businesslike – slipping back into life as it was before the months on the run from Berlin. She thought distance would grant her time to regain her composure, to reevaluate herself. But even after all the reforming, it became quite clear; that it was not his dependable proximity that enchanted her. It was not her mind harboring a lie by romanticizing those months spent together.

The distancing became frivolous. Her feelings for Red still thrived within her veins; and stopped her heart whenever she was called from the Post Office to meet with him.

"Everything is just peachy," She replied a little too bitterly, stopping a wince from forming when his eyebrow quirked upward. "I'm fine."

Red doesn't pry, with their time spent together, they both learned the ins and outs of each other. Knew just when to push and just when to pull back and allow the space needed.

He peeled back the plastic lids and the rich savory aroma made her mouth water. "This arrangement we have," Liz begins after some awkwardly quiet moments, the words halting him, and it makes him pull his eyes from the risotto he placed in front of her, locking them onto her own. "it's really not working for me." Red opens his mouth to speak, a questioning and painful look upon his face. Liz holds her palm up, and his mouth clamps shut, his jaw clenching as he awaits her continuance. "Red, I want to go back to the way it was before we came back," all his tense muscles instantly relax. "can we do that?"

Red emits a short chuckle, "It's not entirely impossible." he winks and continues to open the containers, allowing more of the aromatics to fill the air.

* * *

Liz attempts to recall the moments that lead to her being pressed against the warmed steel of his Mercedes; the door handle digging directly into her spine. As Red's body came in only inches away from her own.

Goosebumps spread like wildfire down the lengths of her arms; observing as his right arm reached forward, his palm presses against the glass beside her head. Half thinks to protest as he sets his left hand to skimming along her outer thigh, roaming up over her hip, across every rib, over the soft fabric of her clinging spaghetti strapped top.

She tenses and inhales a shaky breath when his face closes most of the distance; his mouth hovering over the corner of her mouth, "Relax Lizzie, I'm not going to kiss you." His words bounce off her lips as his nose brushes the bridge of hers, his hand still moving over her, switching from soft to firm touches as it moved over certain areas. Changing the direction of the touch frequently so that it was unpredictable. Working its way all the way up to her neck.

Liz swallows heavily, so much so it was audible; her jaw clenches.

"There really is no need to do so. Your body does all the work for me, this is how you achieve sensory overload. Completed with foggy thought patterns. Those thoughts of objection are already far gone, with every touch, they disappear." he states smugly, his thumb glides over her bottom lip, caress her cheek, twirl a tendril of hair. They ghost down her jaw, slip over her neck; before the fingers wrap around the nape and scratch against her hairline. Sinking in just slightly as he turned her head to the left. His warm breaths fall over her skin.

Liz was paralyzed.

"Here's the thing, Lizzie," He rasps thickly and the abrasive tone sends shivers down her spine, "This, is the most important act of seduction."

_That's how it began... She is the one who started this. Though she barely thought - no matter how much she had hoped - he would truly demonstrate on her. _

"Touch, is something severely rushed by most. You need to take your time, let it all slowly build - the skin is a very sensitive organ, and touching ignites all these lovely little endorphins." The tip of Red's nose grazes, and she arches her neck voluntarily, in a way that submissive cats do to the dominating one. Offering up their most vulnerable expanse. The sun's rays were penetrating through her exposed skin, and in combination with Red's teasing, Liz was absolutely melting.

She had to make conscious efforts just to breathe.

"Men and women alike crave this," his words vibrate against the hollow of her throat, his fingertips are on her upper arms, his nails scratch gently.

Feather light touches move down until they wrap around her wrist. "It's wonderful, to never know what area their fingers may decide to explore." Red's fingers touch her scar, scrape over the sensitive skin, Liz huffs out a jagged breath. The muscles in her heart were constricting, the beats painful. "It's equally wonderful being completely at the mercy of someone else."

Her stomach was tightly braided into knots. She half gasps, half groans, when he releases her hand and slowly moves across her taunt stomach, palm increasing the heat in its wake. His thumb moves just barely under the waistband of her pants, and her back arches out of its own volition.

His mouth is inches from hers again, he nudges her nose with his own to change the position, their heavy breaths mingling. "Sometimes the anticipation of a kiss, is almost as good as the deed itself."

Liz is hardly listening to his words anymore – or paying much attention to the lesson he is imparting - her eyes flutter closed, as she tips her chin upward. But he retreats before contact could be made. "Red," she sighs his name dreamily, her voice was quivering, much like the rest of her. "You are, not nice... not nice at all." she inhales and can smell the spicy undertone of his scent, her body was on fire, inside and out. He huffs a short laugh, and she wonders if it would be so terrible to cave into her desire for him.

It's quite clear now, he's deliberately excavated the truth of her feelings, and now it was exposed to the both of them.

"Do you honestly want me to kiss you Lizzie?" Red speaks quietly, a sad undertone to his utterance that falls directly into her ear. His palm splayed over the small of her back. She was not even warmed putty under his ministrations, she was a boneless pool of goop; Red held all the power.

He hums, when her hands touch his sides; Red nuzzles into her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

An animal like growl escapes her when his teeth nip at her neck, "I would very much like for you to kiss me Red." her head falls away from his, tilts back once his lips finally touch her skin. She pulls him forward, pressing her even more harshly against the car; there is a fleeting moment of self-consciousness thinking Dembe was still inside... but she no longer heard the engine running and assumes he's abandoned them a long time ago. At least she hopes so.

Red's body is delightfully pressed into her, and she feels more then hears the deep rumble in his chest as he moans into her skin.

"Kiss me," Liz begs, as Red continued the assault on the sweep of her neck. His hands were all over now, unforgiving in their roaming, and she was still immobile beneath all his ministrations.

Their foreheads press together, her palms touch his chest, fingers flexing and curling over his pressed shirt; scratching lightly over the fine material.

Red kept evading her acts of trying to rush the kiss, teasing her as he did before, though now it was his lips skimming over her skin. Not kissing, just moving softly against her jaw and cheek, getting daringly close to her lips.

She couldn't stand this ache any longer.

"We are walking along a fine line," Red speaks dolefully, cupping her cheek in his calloused palm.

"Don't you think we've crossed the line several minutes ago? What difference does it make now?" She pouts, pressing her cheek further into his palm. "You cannot turn someone on and not expect this kind of outcome Red."

"I didn't expect you to allow me to get that far," Red admits slightly sheepish, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I expected you to object at some point."

"You have already wrecked my better judgment, many months ago." She shifts against the car, her hands grip the lapels of his jacket as her tongue coats her bottom lip. "There is only one thing that's been running through my mind, and it's the thought of what your lips would feel like against mine."

Liz held her breath and waited for the inevitable as Red shifted his weight, his thumb sweeping over her, tilting her head back just slightly. His eyes were wide with desire, and she imagines hers aren't much different.

Her lips part and she sighs into his mouth when it finally closes over hers. She pulls him tighter against her, supporting his weight with the aid of the car behind her. She's captivated by the sound of their mouths moving against one another, her slow blink of recognition like a snapshot, takes in the image of his closed eyes and serene look upon his face; then her own eyelids set to sealing. She turns her head, changing the position of the kiss and deepening it further. Relishing in the warmth of his tongue as it moved softly against hers.

She tries not to over think it - tries to lose herself in the moment - but in the overly experienced way Red instinctively knew just how to kiss her, touch her; how much pressure to apply and when, with just the right amount of tongue – so great was his technique, that it became intoxicating, like swallowing a drug and finding yourself among the clouds – Liz couldn't help but wonder how many more before her experienced this with him. How many more shaped him into this well tuned... -

"Stop," he mumbles against her lips, penetrating her thoughts. "Don't destroy this with self-doubt. You're more than enough." Red sighs, placing short kisses to her lips.

Liz can only bring herself to exhale shakily and nod briefly, touching his cheek before kissing him fully. This time she becomes utterly disoriented in the passion Red conveys into his kiss.

Liz wonders which one of them was holding the others heart in their palms, which one of them is calling the shots. It didn't seem like either of them had full control – perhaps they were each others weaknesses as well as their strengths – perhaps they were plummeting down a mountain, and all that awaited at the bottom was a rocky death.

Or maybe, they were ascending the mountain, and all that awaited was the endless sky of promise...

* * *

_AN: I really must be bathing in Downy, because clearly I've gone completely soft._

_As always, mistakes are mine, reviews are cherished dearly._

_Thanks for reading,_

_- Red Herring_

_Kiss Me belongs to Ed Sheeran _


	14. The Sounds Of Silence

Owns nothing. No benefits are made.

* * *

"_Hello darkness, my old friend,_

_I've come to talk with you again._

_Because a vision softly creeping,_

_left its seeds while I was sleeping._

_And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains,_

_within the sound of silence."_

Silent

The night's shadows were dancing upon the walls as she sat motionless in her bedroom. Her window open allowed a soft caress of wind to drift inside, blowing the sheer curtain, swaying it side to side in a hypnotic motion.

Her palms were burning, and the wrappings that dressed them were beginning to itch. Liz attempts to scratch through the thick wrap, but it offers no relief at all.

The room was void of all personal belongings, it didn't belong to her, nothing did besides the holdall and the singed bunny tucked away within it. She stands, soundless feet moving across the plush carpet, to the bag where the ear protruded out. She winces, as the skin of her palm stretches and aggravates the abrasion of her left hand; pulling at the zipper and releasing the stuffed animal of her past from its prison.

Liz's entire life was packed into a cardboard box, and when she abandoned it in a storage locker before they jetted off. She doesn't have any recollection of removing the bunny from the box and placing it in her bag. But it was here, like on the nights of her childhood. Bringing her some strange form of comfort as well as bringing forth unanswered demons. It was a link, an inanimate link to a night she had very brief, very unreliable narrations of. Her fingers move over the rough brittle texture of the burnt fur, even in the moonlight the severity and angry marks radiated. Her right hand grabs the left paw, and holds it down at her side, sees the flash of memory of the flames engulfing her room. The malicious sound of the tongues splintering the wood, and the smell of fabrics dissolving in the inferno. Liz can recollect easily the odor of flesh - her own - burning; even now it infiltrates her senses anew.

Her eyes open to the untroubled darkness of the room, Liz turns her right hand and though it was concealed beneath the dressing; she still could envision the scar. Her chest was rising and falling in heavy patterns. She stares out the window, tries to gather her wits and calm her rapidly beating heart. She distracts herself in the swing of the treeline, knows that beyond it there is a tactical team patrolling.

That beyond any reasonable doubt she was safe here, or at the least safer than if she were alone. Her fingers wrap tighter over her stuffed animal, unblinking as she drifted further into herself. Further away from the present, and finding herself in a numb limbo of nothing.

When she regains consciousness, she's standing in the center of the living room; without the memory of even moving. Her panting echoed off of the hard surfaces, rebounding back to her. Eyes dart around the room, her hands were throbbing and when she glances down she can see the blood stains expanding over the white gauze. She bends at the waist and lifts the fallen bunny from the floor. Takes in the orange embers of the doused flame. The sudden warmth of the room elicits an involuntary shiver. She counts the moments, feeling his presence before he makes it known to her. The lights flickering on blind her momentarily, and every fiber and muscle in her body tenses as she turns and faces him. His eyes are narrowed onto her right hand, and the object held within it. She thinks there is a flash of recognition that passes over the green of his eyes. Her stomach abruptly turns unstable, sloshes from side to side, as a feeling of seasickness developed. A thick whooshing sound escapes from her mouth as she pushes every ounce of her lung capacity outward.

His eyes pull upward, soft as they regard her, but Red doesn't speak a single word. His face as tailored as the suit he still wore. His step is slow, his movements precise as he reaches and takes her free hand into his own.

Her head is pounding, as he examined the blood pattern that spread, as a person may examine tea leaves for the secrets of the future. Red waves her to take a seat on the couch, and she doesn't object. She's absent and staring blankly at the sharp corner where the two edges of the room meets when Red returns. A kit tucked under his arm as he carried an enamel basin in his hands.

He takes a seat on the wooden coffee table before her, she catches whiffs of the steam that rose from the basin, and could somewhat smell the soft scent of whatever mild soap he mixed into it. Red's focus moves to her hands, which he takes gently. Stealing the rabbit from her grip and places it in the center of her lap. He gazes up at her, tilting his head to the side in an attempt to catch her eyes but she turns away; tucking her chin closer to her chest. Tousled hair falling over her like a veil.

Neither dared speak. He shuffles closer, her closed knees are between his widespread ones.

Liz winces as he carefully begins unraveling the elastic gauze of her left hand, closes her eyes when he twists and pushes the cloth around the water. Flinches when the warmth touches the raw flesh. Bites harshly on her lip as he continued to cleanse it.

Red twists at his waist, dipping the cloth back into the water, the pink swirls twirl and alter the clear liquid. The only sounds that surround them were those of the water moving under his ministrations. When he's satisfied with her left hand, he begins to unravel her right.

Her scar was burning when his fingertips ghosted over top it. The delicate flutter of his eyelashes as he closely examined it beneath his fingers was enchanting. Not missing as his eyes drifted to the bunny, who's black eyes bore holes into him from its position on her thighs. A breath escapes him, heavy enough to cause his chest to inflate and bind against his vest. Liz feels his fingers twitch before they release and reach for the cloth. He's extremely gentle with this hand, the flesh far more sensitive, far more raw than the left.

Her eyes are stinging, as the pain becomes nearly intolerable. Her teeth sink further into her lip, breaking the skin, and she tastes the bitterness of blood as it formed. Her face contorts in her quiet protest, and though she doesn't ask him to stop; her agony must transfer over to him through their touch, because he stops half way through. Granting her a break, a chance to breathe, but he does not apologize. Does not break the mute condition they seemed to agree to occupy tonight. She gives him a brief nod, and he begins again.

The antiseptic he rubs was soothing, not at all what she was bracing for. Tilting her head back she releases a sigh of relief, as he moved the cotton over the heat of her palm, extinguishing the fire with every swipe of whatever substance it was inside that little white container of his.

Her eyes catch his when she brings her head down; and she hates how capable Red is in conveying words through facial expressions alone. It felt like he was breaching their promise of no communication. The apology is so blatantly read, and so potent was it set within his eyes that it dulled the color, turning them almost grey in sadness. She forces herself to remain numb, to rid herself of igniting emotion. Red's lips form a tight line, and he shakes his head. Proceeding on with his task, he starts fumbling in his kit, taking the dressing and loosening a few inches before taking her hand. Twisting it over and over meticulously. He keeps both wrapped hands in his for a few slow passing minutes, his thumbs brushing over her covered knuckles. She doesn't withdraw them, because regardless of how she felt toward Red, how ever indifferent she acted toward him. Red did grant her solace; Red did ease some unsteady part of her she didn't understand. Some turbulence found deep within her is halted with his aid.

They were light and darkness, cells and membranes, atoms and electrons. They needed each other to exist, and to function harmoniously. For some unidentified reason Liz has yet to discover.

He releases her hands, and she shifts back when his right hand crosses over the line of her arms. Lifting her bunny from her lap, turning it over in his hold and observing the char on its behind. Her breath hitches as she watches his face change, as Red gets lost within himself. His fingers as if possessed by something, move over in the exact motion hers did previously.

A twitch in his cheek, a clench in his jaw, and Red was back to his controlled state. Whatever moment of weakness she witness wiped clean as the lucidity returned to his eyes. He disposes her stuffed animal back into her lap, and he gathers the supplies that litter the table. It's not frantic, but it's definitely rushed.

Everything within her told her to just let him leave, just remain still and unmoved and let him go. They could pretend that whatever just transpired seconds ago never materialized. Yet, as he stood she mirrored the movement, throwing the bunny behind her on the couch; not really taking into account the symbolism in the action.

He's looking at her with an unreadable expression as she takes the things from his hands. Careful to avoid wetting her bandages as she shakily set the water back down on the table.

He's surprised when she steps into his personal space, he tenses when her arms wrap around him, she can feel it all. His inhale as her head presses under his chin, his heart beats that bleed into her own. Can feel the cords of his neck constrict as he swallows. The easing of his muscles when his arms finally enclose around her. Holding her tightly, and she responds back in kind.

Her cheek rubs over the fabric of his shirt and vest, his hand splaying over the center of her back. She ponders how long Red would be willing to hold her, because Liz had little desire for releasing him. Unsure what truth that spoke of, she really couldn't give much effort in analyzing that at the moment. His arms were stable, and she needed stability right now.

Tomorrow she could reflect on tonight. Tomorrow she can decide if she wanted to nurture the seeds planted in silence, or unearth them from the soil before anything can dig their roots in.

Tomorrow.

* * *

_AN: Mistakes are mine, reviews are always welcome. _

_Thanks for reading,_

_- Red Herring_

_The Sounds Of Silence belongs to Simon & Garfunkel _


	15. Permanent

Owns not a single thing.

* * *

"_Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?_

_Forgive my broken promise that you'll never see me cry._

_And everything, it will surely change even if I tell you I won't go away today._

_Will you think that you're all alone, when no one's there to hold your hand?_

_And all you know seems so far away, and everything is temporary,_

_rest your head, I'm permanent."_

Time

In regards to their relationship, Red had considered many probable outcomes on how it would all play out. He always teetered on the edge of losing Liz, in one way or another, it was always a known possibility. Always anticipated, and he knew at some point Liz would stop returning to him; because it was what he deserved, and what she deserved.

Most things in life were only provisional. There was no one who understood that little detail more than him. He understood that the world didn't owe you anything. That there is an unseeable running clock on everything, and expiration was inevitable.

Red always expected to lose her. Yet, in his every imagined cessation, it was never like this.

In no instance was he prepared for it to happen in this particular fashion; nor was he remotely capable to deal with, or digest it.

* * *

He noticed.

Of course he did. They've spent enough time together now to see subtle differences in one another. She's distant.

An unusual timer went off on her phone at random hours in the day, and promptly she would disappear after the obnoxious chime occurred. Liz's moods were all over the place, and while she tried to hide behind a jovial mask – one he himself was all too acquainted with – he would catch flashes of fear, and unreserved sadness in her eyes, when she grew lost in a thought; before it disappeared behind that plastered smile. It takes every ounce of his self-control not to have her followed when she begins sending Donald to their meetings. When she stops coming to work all together.

Liz vanishes, and returns after a month. Standing in his door frame with eyes that were red rimmed. Her small frame frail, her clothes appeared too loose on her.

Liz's eyes were deadened, darker, and her skin almost ashen. Weighted shoulders droop. Eyes fall to the ground. Shuffling on her feet as she asked if they could talk.

She speaks of that six letter word, and his world turns on its axis. He tries to conceal his shock, and all the fears that cease his ability to speak, or even move – her hand covers his, and he thinks it wrong that she should be offering him comfort when it is she herself that merited it – when she begins to cry, he gathers her in his arms. His breathing erratic. Panicked. As he whispered promises that he'll do everything within his power to get her the best treatments that could be offered to her.

Red never felt more powerless than in this very moment.

It's been a long time since he was placed in an instance he had no available control to manipulate; he couldn't just charm or sway this to his advantage. His faith would have to be placed in undependable forces.

Once Liz leaves. Red researches the illness in a way he never did with Sam.

All he gathers are fastidious facts; causes, treatments, various stages and all the ugly symptoms that accompany them. No real concrete answers, that could offer him relief. The deeper he dug, the worst it all became. He is able to deduct however, from her appearance, and timed schedule, what medication she is possibly on. He tries to lessen all the uncertainty without involving Liz. But all he truly does is heighten his own anxiety over the situation.

Desperately Red continues to try and discover some kind of proof that Liz will eventually be fine. That this wasn't the point of no return. That even though everything is unraveling, all was not lost.

Red keeps searching until his eyes burn and blur.

He never does find that instant solution. One that wouldn't completely nuke her entire body.

* * *

He flies doctors in from all over the country.

He stays by her side, holds her trembling hand, listens to medical jargon that is surprisingly optimistic. But he understands enough to know that regardless of what the doctors sell you, or how quickly you catch it, they never truly knew; and it would always remain unpredictable.

Liz stops hiding her illness, once she really has no choice.

The aggressive radiation was set to begin, her hair would thin and eventually fall.

So after the take down of a Blacklister, while they are in high spirits gathered in the Post Office. Red watches with an unease still set in his stomach, even though this isn't new to him. As Liz addresses the group with a forced gaiety; and he knows it took extreme courage, and strength to put a voice to her situation all over again.

Her coworkers try to remain positive, though their words of encouragement are pushed through strained voices; and Red can see the cracks in all their faces. He imagines it's not unlike he may have looked all those weeks ago. When she approached him with the news.

Liz's eyes lock with his. A cry for help.

He moves through the room, their hands touch, unnoticed. He makes an excuse, and whisked her out before her tears could be exposed.

* * *

He's a little surprised when she requests they tap into his 'herbal' supply. Coaxing him with a 'does it truly make much difference now?' and playful eyes he couldn't say no to, especially because that sparkle has been absent for so long. He smiles warmly as he sends Dembe off to Russell.

She looks at him confused, "Contrary to what you may believe Lizzie, we do not keep a 'herbal' supply on hand."

It's late in the evening, and the room lapses into a comfortable quiet, the air tinged with the obvious smell that comes with smoked cannabis. His fingers play with her hair, his constant mournful thoughts pleasantly not present. "Red," She voices softly, lifting her head from his lap as he hummed in response. "Do you," She falters, then cringes before she finds the strength to go forward, "own clippers?"

He swallows heavily as he nods. He's read online of accounts where those opt to shave their own heads; it was an attempt to achieve some form of control. She grins as she slides her legs off the couch, and though there was trepidation in her eyes, there was also determination.

They stand in his bathroom for an unmeasurable amount of time, the instruments lined along the marble counters before her. He stands behind her, watching as she stared absently at herself in the mirror. He too observes her, memorizing this image of her, knowing that the coming months were going to push her body to its limits. Liz seemed to be on the same page, an unsettling blank expression relaxed upon her; as she lifts her hand and runs it through the soft layers.

Releasing a huff of breath from deep within her lungs, her fingers shake as they curl over the instrument. A click, and vibration fills the stagnant silence – it wobbles in her grip as it nears her head, but she touches and guides it back, the high pitch of the buzzer making contact cause his muscles to tense – the reality sinks in immediately for the both of them.

Her eyes close for an inactive moment. Reopen to a glistening of tears. But still she continues. And to her credit, as her hair fell in clumps to the floor - by her own hand - not one single tear is shed.

"Look, we match." She mentions deadpan, lifting her eyes to his in their mirrored reflections.

_Liz wears her baldness like a badge of honor. _

* * *

He's returning from halfway around the world when Donald calls to tell him that Liz fainted in the Post Office. He retells the moments that led to her sudden collapse.

Luckily Aram sensed her stumbling, or saw her knees buckle and was there to catch her. He offers to stay with her in the hospital until they kick him out; and Red thanks him for calling before ending the conversation hastily.

It's nearing dawn when the plane finally touches ground. He didn't sleep on the plane, he paced, he tapped his alcohol supply dry, the minutes ticking on to hours that felt like an infinite amount of suspended time. When he arrives at the hospital it is well before visiting hours, but he frantically demands that the sleepy-eyed nurse allow him the ability to see his '_wife_', explaining how guilty he felt that he couldn't be there for her, that he literally just flew in. It was easy to spin fables with partial truths, and it seemed to be working to a certain degree. She looks at him sympathetically after explaining again that it was against protocol. "I'm going to get a cup of coffee," she winks, and Red grants her the time to leave her station before he slips off to the elevators.

He holds his breath as he creeps through the crack of the door, making as little noise as possible as he moves further inside. Her back is to the door, facing toward the window. The grey sky quickly absorbing the color of the rising sun. His heart beat dully inside his chest, when she turned and gazed over her shoulder at him. "Red," She sighed, the tone of her voice breaks his heart.

"How are you feeling?" Red's articulation painful and rough, he clears his throat and takes the last few steps until his knees press into the guard rail. His hand reaching out on its own accord and clasping over hers. He tries not to notice how boney and cold it is.

"Like I have been hit repeatedly by a truck." His jaw clenches, and his free hand begins to fidget down by his side. Her eyes soften, a frown forming on the edges of her lips that were chapped and slightly off in color. "Are you going to get in trouble if you stay?" she questions delicately, her hand turning over to lace slender fingers through his.

He shakes his head, and swallows around the lump that inhabits his throat. His shoulders felt heavier with a certain amount of hopelessness. He struggled with finding words to fill the silence. And perhaps worst of all Red knows that he's begun looking at her in a way that he really shouldn't be. In that terrible way that everyone has tried so desperately to avoid in her ever disintegrating presence. Optimism was a hard concept to grasp these days. And Red doesn't know how to be around her anymore without looking at her and conveying how deeply stilted he was by the situation. He no longer knows how to look at her in a way that didn't appear like he feared it would be their last time together. Every time he was forced to leave her for a few days, he was haunted by a lingering dread. That he would return to unimaginable news. He doesn't know how to pretend like he doesn't see her life disappearing more and more every single day that passes.

And maybe it's the uncomfortable feelings of certain death hospitals tended to draw out of people, to blame for all this unguardedness. Maybe it's the alcohol he copiously drank wrecking his ability to hide behind his walls. But he unabashedly continues to allow her to see just how pained he truly was.

The raw truth was that Red didn't want to lose her. _No one did_, be he most of all; and he was finally willing to expose her to the truth of it.

His eyes fall, as she moves around the bed, and as absurd as it is; Liz looked more a child than an adult inside it. Like she was being swallowed by the flimsy blanket she ruffled around herself.

"Come here Red," she pats the empty space she made, his brow furrows as she tugs on his hand. "I'm not requesting, I'm demanding that you do." She says sternly, and there is a fire to her eyes that sparks some of the color back to life.

He releases her hand, and works on the buttons of his coat. Slowly he rids himself of his layers of armor, throwing the pieces onto the worn chair in the corner without care.

Loosens the tie around his neck, the bed dipping as he sits near her hip. He toes off his shoes as Liz sits up to allow him to lay back. Cuddling under his lifted arm and positioning the blanket over both of their bodies.

She barely feels like a living person against him. She's skin, bones, and labored puffs of air. Her fingers trail odd patterns over his chest, "I'm not dead yet." She whispers defeated.

He recoils, his eyes pinch together as his arm closes tightly around her. Holding her as close as physically possible.

* * *

She takes a leave of absence once she's discharged from the hospital.

He keeps Harold and the gang busy, if only to distract them from how deeply he was involved in Liz's situation; though Red is unsure how effective that truly is.

He moved Liz into his safe house, and her bad days begin to out weigh the good. She stays in bed the majority of the time, and she can no longer skip dosages of her pain medication, without severely suffering for it.

Her appetite is nonexistent. What Red manages to coerce into her, comes out shortly after.

On a particularly bad day, he attempts to distract her with stories when the pain was too much, her spiritless eyes hazy and unfocused as she struggled to pay attention. To stay awake.

She slept more and more each day.

"Red," She drowsily calls him as he turned down the lights, "If I asked you to lay with me, like you did at the hospital, would you object?"

Red doesn't believe he could deny her anything, and he voices as much. As he begins to strip out of his vest and rounds the bed. She's silent for awhile, but he can feel the tenseness in her leaned muscles. "Say what you mean to Lizzie."

"What you did for Sam..." She begins – his stomach drops, his heart beats faster – she angles her head upward to stare into his unseeing eyes, and he prays that the end of this sentence will not go in the direction he assumes it's about to. "I forgive you." a sigh of relief pushes past his parted lips. "And," her slender fingers touch his jaw, slide over the stubble dusting his cheeks, he adheres, turning downward to stare at her. "I would hope, -"

He interrupts her quickly, dizzy once again, his body a hollowed shell, his heart no longer beating. "Don't you dare finish that statement."

"Red," She emits, unapologetic, as her thumb moves over his cheek. A storm in her eyes he's seen coming for awhile. A truth - and acceptance - he didn't want to hear, believe to exist within her, or come to terms with himself.

"You are going to get better Lizzie," He turns on his side, presses his forehead to her clammy one. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, and I can't even begin to fathom what you are going through. But you can't stop fighting." his palm cups her sunken cheek, his eyes burning as their heated breaths mingled between the small space between them. "If you give up mentally, your body will follow suit."

Her nose nudges his, experimentally, she inches her mouth closer to his own. Her eyes shutting as if waiting for his objection, his fingers curl under her chin tilting it upward, before he closes his mouth over hers. Their joint movements are slow, but it isn't as restrained, jagged or exploratory as first kisses tend to be. It was natural. The pace on a steady incline, and he allows her to set their paths to follow. She kisses him, and he kisses her back, but doesn't take more than she gives. She pulls away from him breathlessly, "Not to dip into even more morbid territory, but I can now die knowing what it's like to kiss you." she laughs lightly despite the deep underlining truth, and unfortunate possibility. "I've been wondering for a while, and I'm not disappointed."

"Lizzie," He rasps out in warning, his face wry, as his calloused palm touched down her arm.

She shakes her head, nuzzling her nose into his neck, laying her lips against the scar she's left him with.

Mumbling against his skin that denial was an insidious thing.

* * *

She has an appointment with her Oncologist when her rounds of radiation end. He misses it due to work he could no longer push aside.

She doesn't call him, and he's left in the unknown for days. He tries to quell his budding anger when he finally returns home.

He's surprised to see her in the kitchen with a cup of tea cradled between her palms. It causes him to halt, such a normal occurrence, that never felt more foreign. He momentarily forgets he's angry. Too happy to see her moving around.

Liz opens a drawer and slides a piece of paper forward. A shadow of a smirk forming, and he doesn't have to look to know what is stated amongst all that list of medical vernacular.

Instead he rounds the island and scoops her into his arms. Holding her tightly. Praying this wasn't a cruel dream. Hoping that the reality wasn't still waiting around for him to finally accept.

She kisses him without abandon, as her fingers begin to loosen the tie around his neck. "Dembe?" She mumbles into his mouth, pulling the tie and tossing it behind her, making quick work of the other buttons.

"He's out," He mutters, his fingers joining her ministrations, working on his vest, while she freed him of his shirt. Shrugging free of both articles in one motion. Leaving himself in his undershirt.

His mouth suppressing her tiny emitted moans, Red's warm hands slipped beneath her shirt and splayed over her hips. "Can I?" he requests, fingers slipping out and gripping the hem of her oversized article of clothing. She nods lifting her arms, while he pulled upward.

She tenses as his eyes roam all her protruding bones for the first time, his fingers lightly dust over her skin. He looks at her adoringly, before he leans forward and places soft kisses over her clavicle. Arms wrapping around her, lift her to sit atop the island, right on top of those stapled papers. His mouth moves over every expanse of skin offered to him. And they never spoke of the remission – perhaps in fear that if they actually voiced it, it would shatter into a thousand pieces and revert back to it's origin - They were in no rush, and he planned on taking his time.

Since, time, was what they were granted.

* * *

_AN: My sincerest apologies for not sending messages to those who reviewed. I'm swamped IRL, and I feel extremely guilty for not thanking you individually. But, I do appreciate the continued support, and I truly value your reviews. Without them I wouldn't set aside time to sit and write. They truly do keep me going. _

_Mistakes are mine._

_Thanks for reading and reviewing._

_With love,_

_- Red Herring_

_Permanent belongs to David Cook_


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